You Are Mine
by Vaedra Valentine
Summary: The Lich King has taken an alliance prisoner with no intent of raising them as scourge, instead meaning to use them to further his nefarious advancement through Northrend. Rated M for violence, language, sexual situations etc. -COMPLETE-
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: This is rated M for a reason: Violence, language, adult situations etc.

Disclaimer: World of Warcraft and its characters belong to Blizzard, I'm not making money off this, promise.

Chapter 1

The Lich King, feared leader of the Scourge, once known as Arthas Menethil, bane to all of Northrend... lounged lazily atop his icy throne. His helm rest on the left arm while his armored arm cradling his chin rest on the other. Frostmourne lay sprawled across his lap, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the intricate rune patterns while his thoughts lay nowhere in particular.

Rarely did he have a moment to sit and reflect, there was always so much to be done, as of late more so than usual... adventurers had begun to flock to Northrend in droves, and though they had usually proven to be little more than a nuisance, a few always managed to slip through the cracks.

_Parasites... _he whispered to himself. Little more than bottom-feeding maggots who roved from place to place, wherever the coin was good. Despite the highly unfavorable conditions and extremely precarious nature of Northrend, they still somehow found their way here and promptly become a thorn in his side. He knew logically that mercenaries could normally prove to be useful if wielded properly, with the right motivation even, he even had his eye set on perhaps turning some of them... it was the nature of the scourge, using the fallen corpses of their enemies to turn them into allies. Granted normally unthinking allies, but obedient. Even his lieutenants were sniveling at his feet, begging his forgiveness for their pathetic failures or cautiously informing him of their minute successes. Kel'thuzad had certainly been preoccupied recently with overzealous adventurers piling into Naxxaramas by the dozen, eager to strip his sergeants of their baubles...

Which brought his attention back to the very reason of why he indeed had a moment to himself, to collect himself before he welcomed his newest prisoner. The Scourge rarely took prisoners of any kind, ordinarily any sort of opposition was cut down where they stood. And while they bodies were still fresh, the blood still flowing from their wounds, consciousness only beginning to fade from their eyes... they were raised to serve the Lich King. Their mangled corpses twisting and breaking, becoming the very thing they despised most; he loved the irony.

His tongue briefly left his mouth to sweep across the arid, pale lips that were now so familiar as he again thought of his prisoner. His subordinates had been confused to say the least when he had made the order to bring the prisoner in alive, but this one was special. Over the course of months they had meddled in his affairs, disrupted his plans, slicing through his lieutenants as if they were nothing. But they _were_ nothing... a temporary means to an end, a convenient outlet for distributing lesser orders to so that he might focus on the truly important.

_Yes... this one should do nicely._

As if on cue, a leathery creature with disproportionate limbs entered the grand, icy chamber that was his master's resting place and began to crawl towards the frozen throne. The geist moved in such a manner both in subservience and out of necessity. This particular scourge was especially adept at jumping and balance, able to navigate the most unstable terrain. They made decent spies if one could ever get them to speak properly...

The thing made a dry wheezing cough, as though its throat had been stuffed with cotton. "...hmmgph... hhhhmm... the prisonhher h-has arrived, mmmph, master" it managed to wheeze out, twitching nervously at his inability to speak quickly enough.

The Lich King gave the slightest of nods and waved the thing away. "Bring her in."

Putting its face to the floor in an attempt at a bow, the geist went scampering back to the ornate doorway, making a few hurried gestures before disappearing and the doors swung open wide.

Two abominations, one of the most feared and repulsive scourge but little in the way of mental capacity entered, innards appearing to leak from any available orifice. Their enormous bulbous bodies began to shuffle towards their master ushering the prisoner, flanking the diminutive form of a human woman. One giant swollen hand each resting on her shoulders, it appeared an almost absurd sight. More than tripling her size it seemed rather an unnecessary precaution, who could possibly be a threat with two hulking abominations and the Lich King himself in a room? But just the same, her hands magically sealed behind her back, armor and weapons stripped away, the woman appeared little more than child about to be punished.

She wore simple black clothing, her shirt sleeveless, her boots practical. Her dark hair lay in disarray, dirt and blood marring her face. Her countenance was a cold mask, amber eyes boring straight into Arthas. It was nearly impossible to read exactly what emotion swam in those liquid depths, but she did not waver from her stare.

As she drew closer the Lich King took in every detail. He'd seen her before of course, but always through some distorting medium: a portal, a blurry image, a dream, but now she was before him in the flesh. He noticed her arms, muscled and firm; warrior arms to be sure. He also noticed under the grime the milky whiteness of her skin, and the goose flesh that prickled there. One could argue that she wore very little and they were not only in Northrend, but the frozen domain of the Lich King himself in the shivering pits of Icecrown... but he had observed a mind over matter mentality about this one and he did not easily dismiss that it could be something else making her hair stand on end. Her continued stare did not unnerve him of course, it only reinforced his determination that she was the right one.

Putting on his cruelest smirk he began to speak, voice rumbling and echoing throughout the chamber.

"It was my understanding..." as he languidly stood from his throne, "that a good rogue never allowed herself to be caught."

The rogue said nothing, lips tightening only slightly. Her eyes remained steady, but making their own candid sweep over the Lich Kings unarmored face. She had seen him before of course, both as the young Arthas and at his full might as the Lich King on many occasions. She'd even fought side by side with him with the aid of the Bronze Dragonflight, helping him burn Stratholme and slay the innocent citizens inside to "save" them from the plague. He had been so young there, his handsome face gleaming with determination, lines of hardness only just beginning to form. Then again she had seen him when she had just but first arrived in Northrend. In a dream in the Howling Fjord he called to her, speaking of her potential, then nearly slaying her on the spot. And again just as King Ymiron was about to awaken, the Lich King appeared and whisked him away to the Pinnacle. And again! Coming face to face with the treacherous Drakuru, he had spared her, speaking of a time where they would meet again.

There were countless other instances in which she could recall him directly involved in whatever endeavor she was working on at the time. The rogue was not so foolish as to think this coincidence, but neither did she think that the majority of these missions were important enough to constitute a personal visit from the leader of the scourge himself.

Trying to push the thoughts away for they helped little in her current situation, she chose instead to focus on his face now, having never seen him both with his helmet off or relaxing in a seemingly casual manner. Traces of the attractive young man she had seen at Stratholme did remain but she did not believe that much if any of that man still existed. His skin looked tired, pallid and gaunt. The glowing blue eyes seemed a furnace of malice and hate, burning into anything his gaze passed over. The white tendrils of hair, unkempt, dirty and forgotten hung lifelessly down his back. And his mouth... she couldn't recall ever seeing him smile but there it was, curved slightly into a malicious half-grin, promising unspeakable horrors. Strangely it was the thing that put her most on edge, as if he saved it for only his "special" victims.

Remembering that he had spoken she ceased her musings and remained silent, noticing that he was looking at her somewhat expectantly. Not necessarily for her verbal response but possibly more to gauge her reaction to his words and presence.

"You should be honored I think, you have been so troublesome since your arrival here in Northrend that laying a special trap just for you, well that does not happen often."

The smirk, if it could be called that, continued.

"I must admit, it was not easy finally getting my hands on you..." the Lich King emphasized this by picking up Frostmourne and taking a step down from his throne, his eyes never leaving hers, the curve of his mouth even growing a tiny bit wider.

"Tell me, _rogue,_ what is your name?" He took another step closer.

The woman did not quiver, she merely stood, raising her chin ever so slightly in a defiant gesture. She was more than prepared to die, she had narrowly escaped death countless times, but not knowing what exactly he had in store for her was beginning to eat at her nerves. A narrow escape did not seem to be in order this time, however, the manacles holding her hands in place were unlike anything she'd ever encountered with no conventional lock to pick and magic binding them in place. One abomination was a feat in of itself to take down when she had surprise and her swords at her side. And of course the obvious problem of the Lich King, inching closer with that damned smile on his face, Frostmourne hovering at his side.

"It is of no consequence," he replied to his own question after the rogue didn't respond. "I already know your name well, Vaedra. It has plagued me ever since your arrival here. It is... unfortunate, that you do not wish to know more of why I have brought you before me. But no matter..." He turned as though he intended to retake his seat, but in a whirlwind of movement he spun around and in two lightning fast strides he stood directly before her.

"While you are in my presence however, I will not tolerate insolence. When I ask you a question, I _expect _you to answer it." His cold breath washed over her face, the stench of death filled her nose. The smirk was gone, replaced with a deadly grimace and the eyes seemed to burn her to her very soul.

The rogue appeared unfazed, she held her composure and would not show weakness. She wouldn't go out quivering like a kitten. She had stared death in the face more than once, and here he was incarnate, coldness she could feel emanating from his person, smoldering eyes threatening to consume her in an instant.

The smirk returned as he regarded her cool composure. "I didn't expect it to be easy." And with that he nodded to the abominations which until now had been utterly motionless, perfectly predictable and easy to manipulate. Using their brute strength they abruptly shoved Vaedra down to the floor, her nose just brushing the ground.

"Ugh.." at the sudden pressure and movement she couldn't help but let a grunt escape her. She could only see his armored feet, and then Frostmourne, the cursed blade resting next to her cheek.

He watched her struggle just a bit, uselessly against her bonds and the enormous fleshy hands that held her knelt to the floor.

"Tell me, why do you do it? Is it the coin? The glory? Some predictable woeful tale of your family being wiped out by the plague? You certainly don't seem to fit the profile of one in with the Argent Crusade lot." He paused, not really expecting an answer, resting his sword nearly on her shoulder directly next to her delicate neck. "So why?"

"Just finish this." Unwavering she spoke. It was not spat out or whimpered, merely... resigned.

And suddenly, he began to laugh. It started as a low rumble in his chest, escalating until he threw his head back and howled into the recesses of the ceiling. It was not a musical sound by any means, terrifying and maniacal, Vaedra almost believed for a moment that he intended to spare her... but for what sick end?

The sound ended abruptly, his sword arm had remained remarkably still for one so absorbed in his own twisted thoughts.

"Don't be a fool, I did not go to all this trouble, set an intricate trap for your capture, drag you all the way to Icecrown so you could lay before my throne like a dog and you could simply perish. No, I'm much too hospitable for that. Instead...I have a gift." The sword left her neck as he turned away from her.

"I don't want your 'Gift', Arthas." The toe of his armored boot collided with her ribcage before she could blink, the shattering pain ripping through her already beaten and sore body. The undead holding her in place prevented the reflexive action of curling up and huddling against any more pain, instead she groaned through clenched teeth. Her hair was roughly grabbed as the Lich King yanked her head back so she was forced to look directly into his blazing eyes. The deceptive calm on his face belied his inner rage.

"Oh yes, and you shall only be referring to me as _Master... _is that clear?" His nose was less than an inch away from her own. She uselessly tried to turn her face away from the stench that invaded her nostrils, from the chill of death she felt as he breathed.

Vaedra made to spit directly into his eye when the other gauntleted hand came up and suddenly backhanded her viciously. The coppery tang that she tasted was not new to her, but nor was it ever a pleasant experience. He released his hold and stood up, allowing her to dispel the blood accumulating in her mouth. After a few hearty spits she looked up at him again, a line of red trickled out the side and down her angular chin.

"It'll take more than that if you intend to break me." She said as coolly as she could muster.

That same smirk began to creep back onto his face, though it seemed to morph into more of a sardonic sneer the longer he looked at her. She was definitely... courageous if you could call it that, though she seemed to have a bit of impulsiveness and recklessness come over her when faced with inevitable doom. Pondering just a moment, he thought it reminded him of someone, a young man he once knew. While the young man was full of passion, the rogue was as chill as Northrend itself, but the spirit seemed to be the same, and this pleased him.

Looking down at his prisoner he spoke, almost tenderly, "Oh my dear, I do not intend to break you... I simply mean to take what is mine." Raising Frostmourne to point directly at the woman, her eyes widened ever so slightly and her jaw clenched. She didn't know what he meant exactly but she steeled herself for what was to come.

The Lich King closed his eyes and began whispering, an incantation she could not make out nor understand had she been able. No amount of preparation could have readied her for the feeling that began to come over her. She gasped for air as her heart wrenched, her stomach churned and her blood ran hot and cold all over at once. Something within her lurched, and she clung to hold on to it. It wasn't a physical part of her for she could not grasp it with her hands, nor part of her consciousness, for she would have reached out with her mental willpower to keep it safe deep within her psyche. Her body shook violently against her metal bonds chaffing the delicate skin on her wrists, her chest heaved as she watched with horror as a violet essence, like a ribbon almost, emerged from her chest and began winding towards the Lich King. He held out his free hand as the essence whirled into a perfect sphere, resting on the palm of his gauntlet.

He whispered another brief incantation into the sphere as it lay twinkling ethereally in the phantasmal, icy chamber. Appearing to be nothing more than a solid glass orb, shimmering faintly, he let out a faint breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Vaedra was trembling and a spattering of blood littered the frozen ground as it seeped from her nose. Her face was deathly ashen and dark rings emerged around her eyes.

"Wha-....what the hell did you do to me?" She sputtered out, her heart racing, her mind hardly able to form a coherent thought. A tumultuous downpour of emotions came over her, the carefully laid dams bursting open leaving her feeling helpless and oh so small... completely at _his _mercy.

Observing his work he closed his palm, hiding the orb from her view, making Vaedra's heart sink just a little more though she couldn't fathom why. He was slightly annoyed at the quivering woman at his feet but reasoned that she would undoubtedly need some time to recover being as how he was keeping her human. Looking down into her face thoughtfully he took the first step into her mind...

_You are mine. _


	2. Chapter 2

I wanted to very much thank the readers that reviewed my story, the comments are greatly appreciated! That being said I do plan on continuing with this fic, just please remember it's rated M for a reason so don't read if you will be offended.

Chapter 2

Vaedra sat on the cold cell floor, shivering slightly. Rows of cages lined the inner wall, though she was the only prisoner, and completely alone. Even torturous screams would have been a welcome sound in the desolate, frosty dungeon, but only silence greeted her. Ordinarily such solitude was welcome by the reclusive rogue, but the circumstances...

Trying to suppress another shiver she knew she had to pull herself together, and quickly. She eyed the single crust of moldy bread and melted ice that had been left for her a few moments before by a hobbling geist. Strangely enough she didn't believe the poor condition of the food was meant to punish her, more that there was no need of it here. None of the undead nor the Lich King needed sustenance, it was merely all that was available. For a moment she considered not touching the vile stuff but knew she would need her strength should the opportunity for escape present itself, and with that thought in mind she gulped it down, doing her best not to let it touch her tongue.

_There is no escape..._

The deep, tremulous voice echoed in her head no sooner than the thought of escaping had completed. Silently berating herself, the rogue realized all of her private monologue had been laid bare for the prying fingers of the Lich King. A hundred questions raced through her mind before she could stop the flood.

_What did he do to me? Is he always present? Can he only hear surface thoughts? Or can he see... everything? And if he can't see everything now, will he be able to unlock it over time?_

Clamping her hands over her ears uselessly in a childish gesture, giving herself a moment to clear her mind and grip the stream of thoughts shut. She needed to focus her attention on something mundane... standing she began to examine her cell door. As she had been brought down to the dungeon she had taken notice that her lock differed from the others as though it had been altered beforehand, preempting her arrival. Same as the device used to bind her wrists, this lock had no actual mechanism to spring and was also reinforced with magic. The bars were entirely too close together for her to even hope to squeeze through, even using her double-jointedness and all the escape artist skills she possessed.

Sighing and searching for anything to keep her wandering thoughts occupied, Vaedra turned her reflections back to how exactly she had gotten caught to begin with...

* * *

The inn at Wintergarde Keep had been flooded with adventurers for weeks. After hearing of the impending threat, and of course the abundant spoils to be had in the recesses of Naxxaramas there was nary a free space open. Fortunate for Vaedra, she knew the innkeeper, in fact she had saved his life.

Having been one of the first arrivals in Northrend, she had found Wintergarde Keep in a rather dismal state; Naxxaramas hovering nearby to the east and the village below in the shadow of the keep being ravaged by undead. Using all the flying ability she had, the rogue maneuvered her gryphon and aided in the rescue of numerous Wintergarde villagers. It got the town up and running again somewhat and helped boost morale, not to mention a place in the heart of a kindly, middle-aged innkeeper who did his best to always have a room open for Vaedra.

Now as she sat at the crowded bar sipping her water, boisterous adventurers all trying to out-drink or tell a better tale than the next man, she contemplated her mission. She had been sent out here to "take care" of Kel'thuzad. After dispatching so many of the Lich King's lieutenants already there seemed little dispute in who should be sent to dispose of the leader of the citadel himself, but despite her reputation and considerable skills as a rogue, she knew she'd have to seek outside help.

So it was no surprise when a beastly one-eyed man came up behind her and clapped her on the shoulders, spilling water everywhere.

"Ehh, Vaedra, I'm hopin' you're ready for this evenings excursion! I can already feel the coin between my fingers, and I'm thinkin' I'm needin' a new sword as well!" He emphasized this by knocking his battle worn weapon against his shield, receiving a hearty shout in response from the other denizens.

Darge and his companions were the best she had been able to come up with thus far, but while they were gold-hungry and rough around the edges like most, she at least saw potential in them to be willing to venture further into the citadel, closer to Kel'thuzad. The typical dungeon-diver was just that, going far enough to secure some loot and maybe a story or two and no further, but using her silver tongue Vaedra was confident she'd be able to persuade, if not goad the band into going all the way. It certainly hadn't been difficult to get them to invite her along once she disclosed that she had intimate knowledge of the citadel's inner layout...

"I'm ready, but are you, Darge? The plagued wing isn't exactly a stroll in The Park, I'm not so sure you and your companions can handle it frankly..." Vaedra said with a faint smile on her lips.

"Of course we can!!" He bellowed, "We'll strangle them with their own entrails! Poison them with their own filthy spores! Make them drink that foul slime that runs below!"

While what he said made little sense it succeeded in getting him and his friends riled up, and angry is how she needed them. Hopefully her cool presence could keep them anchored to reality so they didn't charge off like lunatics...

Later that evening, armored up and ready to go, Vaedra mounted her drake to begin the painfully short flight to Naxxaramas. Entering the citadel was, as always, a little unnerving. Though the temperature outside was somewhat hospitable that night, it always seemed to drop a few degrees as she walked in.

There was no rain, but Vaedra could hear a faint _drip... drip... _the moans of tormented souls, the hiss of the arachnids, these were the usual sounds, but she certainly hoped she never got used to them.

Once the group had all arrived and put up their magical defenses, Vaedra gestured to the southeast.

"That is the plagued quarter. We must proceed somewhat slowly, otherwise we will be overwhelmed. There are gargoyles, ooze-like creatures... but it will be well worth it." she said grinning stupidly as though she cared for the worthless treasure as much as they.

_Drip... Drip..._

Lyriel, the night elf priestess and Darge's personal, ahem, healer, raised her hand like a child.

"Excuse me, I imagine that there will be a lot of diseases, is that correct? I'd like to have that spell prepared if so."

Vaedra nodded, "It is extremely important that you remove any diseases as quickly as possible. Since you will be mostly occupied with that I would ask that Quin assist you in healing," she said tilting her head towards the paladin.

The paladin looked down at his two-handed axe sadly...

"Okay okay, who wants refreshments!" The diminutive mage, Bortolo called out just a bit too loudly as he began channeling his spell.

Vaedra waited the next few minutes as they continued to situate themselves. Once she was sure they were finally ready they began to creep towards the plagued wing.

_Drip... Drip... _

The stone hallway was empty as they began, Vaedra hid in the shadows just ahead of the main group checking for traps, disarming them as she went or calling back softly to Darge when they needed to move.

The first creature came rounding the corner the same moment as the ugly warrior, each hideous creature just as surprised to see the other.

The gargoyle shrieked, and Darge let out a furious yell, the momentary quiet completely lost. The rest of the team let out a cry as well before Darge slammed the thing in the face with his shield.

"How do you LIKE THAT!" He yelled in the creatures face, snarling all the while.

Vaedra moved up silently behind the occupied creature, using the pommel of her sword to daze it and began slicing into its leathery wings.

"Kill it quickly! Before it has a chance to turn to stone and regenerate!" she called out to the group, hoping they had the presence of mind to hear her.

Spells blasting into it and swords chopping mercilessly, the gargoyle sensed that it was outmatched and hurriedly began its transformation, its eyes closing and movements slowing.

As the wings flapping started to slow, Vaedra was able to maneuver between them, giving her access to the creatures head. She lifted her sword arm and delivered a fatal blow to the back of the creature's neck. The beast screeched, and fell to the floor, half of its body breaking into stoney pieces.

There were a few cries of victory, but Vaedra kept her ears open.

_Drip... Drip... _

"Yeck! What is this stuff?" Bortolo exclaimed, his stubby fingers covered in a sticky, green goo...

Before any examination could be made though, a rumbling could be heard, the sound of stone on stone. All chattering ceased and everyone's head turned, down the hallway they had just emerged from.

"Shit..." Vaedra muttered under her breath as she broke out in a dead run back to the entrance.

Before she made it very far, however, a high pitched squeal rung out, echoing in every direction.

The little, bald mage was in the pincers of an enormous arachnid, a puddle of the greenish ooze beneath where he had stood. He thrashed wildly, the venom already begin to course through his veins. Before anyone could move, the spider retreated back up her gossamer thread to the ceiling with the gnome in tow.

"Bortolo!" Lyriel cried, desperately trying to invoke her healing magics upon him.

"I thought you said this was the_ plague_ quarter!" Darge yelled angrily. Staring up into the murky darkness, a hundred hungry eyes looked back at the adventurers.

"Shoot em down!" Darge commanded the dwarf with a blunderbuss. The stocky man shrugged and began unloading round after round blindly into the ceiling.

The mage's screams began to lessen as he succumbed to the poison, the rest of the group shifting uncomfortably, ready to bolt at a moments notice.

The spiders hissing increased as they were struck seeming only to anger them, their scurrying about becoming more frantic.

Before Darge could give the call for retreat another rumbling could be heard, this time from deep within the plague wing. The sound of turning gears and screeching metal had everyone quieted yet again. From around the corner, a wave of foul brown sludge rushed towards the clustered group.

Darge's eyes went wide, "Ruuuunn!" Most needed no further encouragement to carry their feet back to the entrance and out of the cursed citadel.

Lyriel remained where she stood, calling fruitlessly to her mage friend, unable to leave him behind. The putrid substance began to wash around the bottom of her robes and feet.

"Bortolo!" she sobbed again. Darge calling to her from over his shoulder seemed to awaken her. She tried to run, but her feet were cemented in the sticky goo. Her legs refusing to obey, she tugged at one with her arms. Losing her balance and falling to her knees, crying out. Foolishly her hands went to yank at her robe from beneath her, the sludge seeming to reach out and secure her hands also.

"Nooo!" Lyriel wailed. Unable to move, the flesh of her extremities began to get eaten away by the ooze. An agonized scream left her throat, she could feel it, like a thousand rats nibbling at her fingers, slowly working its way up her legs and arms. With one last struggle she fell face-first into the brown pool, a single gurgle escaping her lips before she was covered entirely.

Darge turned at the tormented wail that escaped Lyriel, a silent "no" forming on his tongue. He went to turn and rescue her, but it was already too late, the ooze pouring over his boots. Even his warrior strength couldn't budge his feet, and stumbling, he fell to his knees...

The remainder of the band never looked back, the ooze catching up with a few of them, the rest trying to find refuge in alcoves along the stone wall were picked off by the lurking arachnids. Their pitiful shrieking could be heard resonating all throughout the citadel. But Vaedra was already gone.

Master of knowing how and when to escape, the rogue padded silently towards the dungeon entrance. Cursing silently she observed the now sealed off openings, someone had been waiting for them... She knew she couldn't waste time to sit and ponder who it was or why, she had to find another way out. From previously circling the fortress on her drake she knew there were no windows, no other doors she'd been able to find. Maybe not getting in anyway, but perhaps to get out from the inside...

Quickly examining the sealed off entrance, she found no imperfections. They must have tripped a magical trigger, or someone watching their progress waiting for them to be out of sight. Drawing her cloak around herself tightly, she set off into the southwest corridor, to the military ward.

The death knight trainees patrolling the stone hallway were easy enough to dodge. Slinking in the shadows, Vaedra continued, feeling along the walls as she searched both for traps and possible hidden doors. From a distance she heard Instructor Razuvious barking out orders, and the clanging of steel as death knights practiced in his arena. Dodging behind a weapons rack, two chatting trainees passed, absorbed in their conversation Vaedra was able to make out a few words.

"... I heard they "melted" the latest group of intruders, I could have sworn I heard their screams from here!" He chuckled.

"How many were there this time?"

"Oh at least 50, they keep sending more and more. They set up special traps just for this bunch... not sure why... oh yes, they need to start keeping some alive so we can--"

Moving away from the death knights Vaedra retreated away from the clanging metal and into a hallway, lined by several wooden doors. Scanning the lock and door revealed no traps, and in less than 15 seconds she had pulled out her thieves tools, picked the lock and had her ear pressed to the door listening. She performed the action so swiftly and with such familiarity it was like watching someone opening a jar or some other ordinary task.

Peeking inside she observed crates and barrels, stuffed with reagents and weapons. Moving to the next door she performed the same routine. Rows of cots lined the wall, but little else. The next room was the same. As she arrived at the fourth door her ears picked up the sound of someone approaching from around the corner. Hastily unlocking the door she had no choice but to duck inside.

Her eyes searching in the dark slowly adjusted. Reaching behind her she made sure the locking mechanism was put back in place. The room was lightly adorned, an actual bed, an enormous tapestry taking up nearly all of one wall, ornate weaponry on display. She heard the metal footsteps draw closer down the hallway. Darting over to the tapestry and pushing it aside, Vaedra's hands desperately searched for a niche, an imperfection in the stone wall, a lever, anything. After a moment she found a tiny hole bored into the mortar. Taking her slender tools she slid it in, and a faint click and a panel of wall sliding aside met her. Hearing the jingle of a key in the lock she pressed inside, straightening the tapestry and sliding the panel shut behind her as the door opened.

Letting out a breath, she took a quick survey. A light, cool breeze whipped through Vaedra's hair, and she knew she was getting close. The tunnel she found herself in now was very narrow, the ceiling low, and three possible choices of direction. She wondered how deep these secret tunnels ran, did they cover the entirety of Naxxaramas? Hating to but knowing she'd need it she lit a torch from her pack, and pulled out some white powder from a pouch on her belt.

Sprinkling the powder on the floor where the hallways intersected, she started moving down the left path. Each time she encountered a new choice of direction she'd sprinkle a little more. Wandering as such it seemed like hours, until she finally encountered... a dead end.

Laying down the torch she again began her tireless scrutiny along the wall, knowing full well that it could just be a dead end she had found. After finding nothing, she sighed and prepared to restart her aimless travel when she glanced up. When she stretched out her arms she could just brush the ceiling of the confining tunnel, and doing so revealed another similar tiny hole. Using her tools as before she heard the familiar click and the panel slid away, revealing the open night sky. Leaping up she grabbed the edge and tried to pull herself up... when an enormous hand reached out yanked her out instead by the back of her neck.

She twisted her body uselessly in the hold, catching a glimpse of the colossal abomination that had her. It's deformed face seemed to regard her curiously, as a clear liquid slowly seeped out of the thing's nose.

A raspy, weathered laugh rang out across the night sky. "Very good, very good! He will be most pleased... careful with that one, Patchwerk, she is very important." The grimacing but amused face of Kel'thuzad etched into her mind...

* * *

With that last thought of Kel'thuzad's hollow face, Vaedra's attention returned to the present, and the deep chuckling resonating in her head.

Speaking aloud, "What would you have done if I had perished in that hallway? A spider injected me with its poison? Not found my way to the roof? Slain by a troop of death knights who found me attempting to sneak around? How could you have predicted that I would escape?"

The eerie laughter continued for a moment.

_If you had perished, than I wouldn't have made a very wise decision in selecting you, now would I?_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The food hadn't improved much, mostly she was given scraps of whatever they could find, occasionally what appeared to be a seared rodent, and the usual melted ice of Icecrown. Not a superstitious type, Vaedra still couldn't help but feel like she was ingesting pure evil each time she swallowed the water down.

She'd perform light exercises in the confines of her cell to keep her body fit. She'd recite sequences of numbers, ranks of officers, the recent events of her capture, anything to keep her mind alert... and occupied. She would sleep often, knowing that he could more than likely witness her dreams, but not caring. She put little faith in the validity of dreams, trusting her instinct that it was simply her mind stringing together recent events and circumstances in a jumble of activity.

Over several days, his voice remained silent. She had no way of knowing if he was simply watching and waiting or if he could only dip into her mind at certain times. Only when she sat in meditation was she able to feel it, like a cold compression that was ever present, but when her concentration broke the feeling was lost. She wondered if this meant that his influence only went so deep, but she withheld any assumptions...

A couple nights later, she awoke abruptly, the sound of clinking footsteps approaching. Normally a geist or ghoul of some kind brought her food, but their skulking was always quiet. Climbing up off the floor, she stood, her hands clasped behind her back, feet apart, waiting.

As _he_ neared her cell he was pleased to see her standing and awake. Planting a sickening smile on his face he drawled through the bars, "So my pet, how are you feeling this evening?"

Regarding him a moment, she replied curtly, "Splendid." For a moment she thought she was imagining things and the chill air was getting to her, but she felt the unmistakable compression on her mind.

He paused a moment, "That is most excellent to hear." The rumbling tones of his voice reverberated in her chest. He examined her a moment, she was still wearing the same filthy clothes, her face caked in dirt he could hardly make out her features. Drawing up his arm he lifted his hand and revealed the shimmering, violet orb, nestled in his palm.

Vaedra winced inwardly, again not sure why she had involuntary reactions when she saw the thing...

"I _own _you now," he began, "Whether you know it or not, your fragile life lies in my hands, subject to my every whim." He paused. "I _know _you, rogue. I know you aren't the 'heroic' type to throw your life away on principle or to preserve a greater good. A death for that purpose would be meaningless! And wasteful... But I have also seen more. You are filth; a coward. You stand before me with your face stoic and your eyes dead, but I know your fear. That fear you harbor secretly in the darkest recesses of your heart. There is nothing you can hide from me, and trust me when I say I intend to show you the _true_ meaning of fear..." He closed his palm and lightly squeezed the orb. Her mind reeled, a jolt coursed through her down her spine to her toes. Breathing heavily she rested her hands against her thighs. When the more than unpleasant vertigo passed after a moment she stood up straight once again.

"Though I know not how or why, you are correct on all counts. I am a rogue, a scoundrel. I perform the unsavory tasks no one else wants to under the cover of night so that messiness is avoided. I go where opportunity takes me, not necessarily where I'm ordered to. Alliance, Horde, good, evil, these are merely titles we have given ourselves so each side can justify that what they're doing is right... but none of that is significant to me. And for that reason I wouldn't throw my life away, I don't stand for anything nor does anyone see me as some great pillar of light and hope... I'm just a rogue. But I do it well, and many would argue the ways of the rogue are cowardly though I doubt that's what you imply. I might have even said that my greatest strength lies in being able to escape, buy I have been known to be wrong..." tilting her head slightly Vaedra glanced about her cell. "You've taken something from me, and I won't pretend to understand what or your motives behind it, but you've let me live, so far spared me from undeath, so now I ask... why?" As she finished, she had the feeling that none of what she conveyed needed to have been said out loud. The words didn't simply echo in her mind as she spoke them, but the emotions that they evoked were present also, and she sensed that he heard it all.

The Lich King standing opposite the woman in the cell seemed to look past her a moment, pocketing the orb and contemplating. She was truthful enough, though he perceived there was much being untold beneath the layers of her confession. Regardless, her posture and tone suggested that she was not being rebellious, perhaps even ready to accept subservience. She was far from being inept and likely knew that continued insolence would only result in torture and eventual death. He didn't have an eternity to spend trying to coax her into seeing things his way or manipulating his will into hers. An unthinking puppet was not what he needed, he had plenty of those already. He'd already observed in her a tenacity and ingenuity, something he could not get from his undead minions, plus... she was the best. Her craft was a deadly dance, and he intended to use it. The time was right, she was his now.

Returning his gaze to Vaedra his blue eyes flickered in amusement as he slowly eyed her up and down."Ah, but won't the alliance miss their hero? So many selfless acts you've performed! So many victories against the scourge, I'm surprised they haven't erected a statue in your honor! Such injustice..." shaking his head fallaciously. "The poor misunderstood rogue, endlessly chipping away at the undead that continue to rise and those 7th legion fools believing it will make a difference. They truly entertain the notion that they're making progress, that eliminating my 'chosen' will weaken _me._ Surely by now you see the futility of it all? You say you go where opportunity takes you, would it not be in your best interest to play on the winning side?" Stepping over to the cell he wrapped his hands around the bars and brought his face close. "So long as you are useful, your mortality will be safe. I promise you no luxuries, but I suppose I don't really have to, do I?" The corner of his lip upturned, twitching slightly.

The impassive expression on Vaedra's face contradicted the inner turmoil that erupted behind her eyes. A shred of bravery voiced her cowardice for not sacrificing herself when faced with such evil, her instinct for survival insisted that she do what she must to prevail, her morality, or lack there of, arguing back and forth that she was a good person! Oh, but she did unspeakable things to get there sometimes, that's okay, right? And the opportunist voice, predominant over the others, was certain that this arrangement would be foolish not to accept, could bring her power even if she played her cards right. Not so witless as to believe that she was any different from the subordinates that declared their undying loyalty to the Lich King and were promptly discarded, her defining voice warned of extreme caution. She must accept that she was nothing but a tool to him, and grow from there...

A cacophony of voices, conscious and unconscious, some insistent others subdued, made it difficult for him to decipher her exact thoughts. Concentrating on the orb on his person, he pressed deeper into her surface thoughts, attempting to break them apart and make reason of them all.

Sensing the intrusion, and a faint cool pressure behind her forehead, Vaedra's agitated reverie ceased. Her countenance had remained apathetic through it all, but that constant pressure invaded further, exploring and searching for answers.

Softening her stance and bowing her head almost imperceptibly, she spoke "What do you command of me, Master?"

_Oh she is crafty... _The Lich King appraised to himself. It had been relatively easy to penetrate into her surface thoughts, they were spread wide for him to view freely and the twisted pleasure he derived from doing so had lured him into remaining in her mind for the last several days. Fortunately from doing this he had discovered that from his vantage point he was able to determine her truthfulness, but only of what she was saying or thinking at the time. Any implied meanings or subtle undertones were undetectable thus far... leading him to the conclusion that her words had been chosen _very _carefully. Her possible veiled intentions hidden beneath the facade of truths was not unexpected and heightened his respect for the human. This all aside however, knowing he would have to bide his time before he might be able to unravel more of the puzzle, he opted to continue forth with his plans and accept her words for what they were.

Sneering, "I thought you might see things my way. Is it so bad? Having to submit to me in your entirety?" With a small wave he removed the enhanced lock and opened the cell door, his hand extended in an eerie gesture of welcome.

Vaedra knew that she had reached the point of no return. She condemned herself to death if she didn't cooperate but not so certain that the alternative would bring much better. Stepping out of the cage she looked up into Arthas' face.

"I will need my equipment."

His mouth twisted into a wicked grin.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sitting upon his throne once again with the armored fingers of his gloves pressed against his mouth, the Lich King waited for his prisoner. However, observing the woman that now entered the great chamber it would have been difficult to determine that this was the same person.

The transformation was astonishing. Vaedra's dark hair was glossy, clean and pulled back neatly. All the traces of grime, blood and doubt had been washed from her appearance. Her leather armor fit her athletic body like a second skin allowing for freedom of movement while the inky blackness of it could make her disappear. Very little embellishment was present on the armor, a few practical buckles and pockets but no shiny embroidery to reflect light. There was the slightest sway in her hips as she walked, promising extensive pleasures, but the wickedly sharp swords that rested there also promised a swift death. Over the lower portion of her face she wore a half mask, leaving the almond eyes to peer out, wide open to assess, judge and execute her victims.

As she approached her gaze was fixed on the once-man on the throne, much like before. But the defiance was gone, it was instead replaced with acceptance, duty, perhaps even... complacency.

He could only hope that her spirit had not fled with her defiance.

When Vaedra arrived before him she knelt to one knee and awaited her instructions. Trepidation filled her heart, she knew once she crossed this bridge there was no going back.

Rising from his icy throne he looked down at the rogue. Her success could very well tip the scales in his favor, but then again despite her impressive capabilities he didn't want to play his hand too soon. If the Argent Crusade or 7th Legion learned of his secret assassin before the moment was right it would all be for naught.

His passionless voice pierced the silence suddenly, "I needn't remind you of the consequences of failure... If you are discovered or caught, you will be left to their judgment. If you do not fulfill the orders given by me I shall see to it that you suffer a fate far worse than death. Nothing less than _perfection_ is required." Pausing a moment he pondered her first task. "Go to northern Dragonblight, there is small contingent of the 7th Legion stationed there, near the Crystal Vice. They have been interfering with the reanimation of my frost wyrms in the area. A minor nuisance but a task befitting your talents I think... Eliminate them all."

Vaedra bowed her head. She knew the location well and the Legion Commander Tyralion personally. Being dismissed, she rose and began to depart, the same slow gait as when she entered.

_I will be watching..._

She walked a bit faster.

* * *

The night was far from peaceful. The roaring of the dragons to the south ever locked in battle, the whipping wind carrying the screams of those forgotten, the thundering of giants defending their ravine... Against the night sky Vaedra's onyx drake was little more than a silhouette, its gentle flapping unheard by the soldiers below.

In the evening the normally pristine white snow held a greenish tint to it, the incandescence frighteningly beautiful.

From her vantage point she observed three sentries crunching through the snow, patrols crossing occasionally where they would normally nod to one another and continue on. Though they were disciplined there was definitely a sluggishness in their step, the hour was late and the cold was bitter.

Guiding her drake above a guard taking a quick breath, she descended, flying as close as she dared. He began to relieve himself in the snow and she knew she had her moment.

Leaping from her drake, swords extended and angled down, Vaedra landed on top of the man, her momentum driving the honed edges into his shoulder blades on either side of his neck. The force with which she fell drove the man knee-deep into the snow and he was dead in an instant.

Hastily covering the rest of his corpse beneath the soft whiteness, she continued on. There was very little cover for her to make use of save a few scattered and ancient dragon bones and some stone ruins strewn about near the Path of the Titans. Ducking behind a tablet that extended maybe four feet out of the ground another of the sentries passed.

Coming up behind him, silent as death her hand covered his mouth while her sword pierced his back and out of his chest. Leaving the sword speared through his body a moment her hand reached for the dagger concealed in her boot. Drawing a quick line across his throat she deposited his helpless body behind the tablet as he began to bleed out. The ambush site was a bloody mess, though difficult to see at this late an hour. She hoped the dark spots could be mistaken for dirt from at least a short distance away.

The final guard approached a couple minutes later, spotting the blood on the ground sooner than she had anticipated. Rather than immediately returning to the camp, however, he came closer to examine. Not missing the opportunity she charged him straight on from around the stone. Unable to bring his shield around in time to block the blow her shoulder hit him square in the stomach, sending him down beneath her and knocking the wind out.

Bringing his right arm up and around to swing at the figure on top of him Vaedra easily parried with her left sword, the other blade drawing a line across his unarmored forearm making him drop his weapon. Knowing he would be able to call out for help soon her leg kicked up striking the man under his chin, his head snapping back and his mind dazed. Finishing him quickly, she dragged the body next to the other and crept over to the undisturbed camp.

She hadn't much time before anyone awake would know the guards weren't checking in and the rest would be alerted. A man and a dwarf sat around the campfire, tending it and talking softly. A gryphon was tied to a post nearby, resting contently. Moving up behind the first of the three large tents the rogue carefully slit through the canvas with her dagger, pulled open the flap she had created and stepped inside. Every inch of movement she took was slow, calculating and deliberate; utterly noiseless.

Four sleeping figures lay huddled together for warmth within the tent. Crawling to the first heated body she quickly slit the throat of a female dwarf, then a human man, then another man. When she arrived at the fourth figure, a young human girl sleeping soundly, a flicker of hesitation came over Vaedra. She couldn't have been older than 16, wisps of red hair sticking every which way from her slumber. Just as the rogue brought up her dagger to finish the job the girls eyes opened wide, startled. Vaedra jabbed the dagger down straight into the girls throat. The red-heads mouth was poised to scream, but all that emerged was a trickling of blood and a pitiful gurgle. Quickly ending the girls suffering, Vaedra wiped off her dagger and exited the tent through her cut in the side.

Performing the same meticulous actions as the first, four sleeping bodies, four swift deaths, the rogue moved towards the final tent. Silently counting off the number that had already been taken care of with how many she believed to be stationed here she knew that this tent would be occupied by Tyralion.

Slicing only a tiny hole into the canvas she peered inside. The Legion Commander was seated on his cot examining some reports, his helm sat beside him and his nasty glaive rested at his feet on the floor. The front of his tent was open facing the campfire where the two she had spotted before were still engaged in conversation.

Vaedra took a minute to ponder her next move when the dwarf rose from his seat and began walking towards Tyralion's tent. She held her breath as he stuck his head inside, saluting.

"Sorry to disturb Commander, but it be time for the next watch, shall I wake the men?" Tyralion nodded to the dwarf curtly, going back to his reports immediately.

Vaedra crept around the back of the tent, following the dwarf as he ambled over to the middle tent muttering under his breath. He wore a horned helm and dragged his large two-sided axe behind him in the snow. As he went to lift up the flap of canvas, Vaedra was there, the pommel of her sword crashing directly onto the dwarf's head.

Merely shaken by the blow the dwarf whirled around, letting out a fierce yell and bringing his giant axe about in a great sweep in front of him. The rogue danced out of the way of the clumsy swing, her hand reaching into a pouch on her belt and tossing powder into the dwarf's eyes.

"Gahhh!" he cried out, instinctively dropping his weapon and reaching for his face.

"What's going on out there?!" Tyralion barked from his tent. Reaching for his glaive, he emerged and took a quick look around. The man at the campfire was standing, looking for his weapon, the dwarf was clutching at his face shouting obscenities. Seeing no immediate threat, he grumbled and began to turn... when a body came barreling into him from behind, swords scraping against his tough mail armor.

Grunting, the Legion Commander fell face-first into the snow, the weight on top of him shifting to prepare for the killing blow. Twisting his body he brought his mighty glaive out and over behind him blindly, hoping to strike at something. The rogue rolled away from the sharp blade of the commander's polearm and jumped off of his back, swords drawn and ready. The flickering light of the fire shimmered off of her deadly weapons and made the amber pools glow, making her appearance somewhat devilish.

"Warren! Get to Wintergarde! Go!" Tyralion ordered the man at the campfire. Warren "Wyrmbait" nodded and took off towards the tied up gryphon, his first few steps stumbling through the snow as he gained his footing and tried to shake off his fear.

Vaedra's attention shifted to the fleeing man, knowing that it was imperative that he be stopped but also knowing that turning her back to the large man with the glaive would be suicide. Three small daggers appeared in her hand, seemingly from nowhere, they were hurled towards Warren's retreating figure. Turning end over end as they whipped through the air the daggers sparkled almost delicately before one was embedded into the back of his knee, the next into his back and the last squarely in the nape of his neck. With a groan he fell into the snow, the knife in his leg preventing him from walking and blood pouring freely.

Tyralion snarled and dove at the rogue in front of him with his glaive extended hoping to catch her off guard. Spinning out of the way she let his momentum carry him further than he had intended; turning as he passed her swords struck twice across his armored back. Howling in pain he spun around to face her, but she had vanished.

From between the two nearby tents, Tyralion heard the dwarf soldier grunting. He emerged with his hands up in front of him with the rogue behind, holding her dagger to his neck.

"Drop your weapon or he dies." She said coolly.

Tyralion growled and took a step forward, in response the dagger began to cut into the sensitive flesh of the dwarf's throat who let out a yelp. He stopped.

"Do it." She reiterated.

"Don't you be worryin' about me, Commander I-" the dwarf gulped as the dagger pressed in further.

The Legion Commander was torn, this woman skulked in the shadows and fought dirty, there was no guarantee she would keep her word... but he was an honorable man and he couldn't have the death of one of his men hanging over his head if he could have prevented it. Slowing lowering his weapon to the ground, he kept the stare of the dark woman on him.

"Where do I know you from, rogue? You seem very familiar..." he squinted into the shadows trying to get a better look.

The groaning of Warren could be heard over the silence that ensued, not quite dead and attempting to crawl towards his gryphon, his salvation, but in too much pain.

Vaedra watched the commander intently, prepared to strike should he try anything. Once the glaive hit the snowy ground he stood up with his hands up in front of him.

"There now, just like you asked. I'm no longer armed. Let my man go and perhaps we can work something out..." Tyralion's voice remained steady and calm.

"Step back." she ordered, drawing the dwarf closer to her body.

He nodded. "Of course. Now just let my man go--"

"Keep backing up!" The rogue cut him off, she let a bit of impatience seep into her voice.

Taking a couple steps back he opened his mouth to speak again when she interrupted, "Now turn around."

"I don't think..."

"Turn around!" she yelled, eyes blazing. "I can't let you see me leave," she continued, more softly.

"All right, I'm going to do what you ask. Just send ol' Jargen over when I do and there will be no more quarrel between us." Tyralion prayed.

The rogue nodded her assent, watching as he turned until his back was completely facing her. Kissing the dwarf on his ruddy cheek, she drew a line across his throat. Before his hands could even come up to stem the flow of his lifeblood, the rogue jumped away, a heroic leap that had her spiraling towards the Legion Commander, his back still turned.

Much like her first kill of the night, swords came down on either side of the mans neck, slicing past his shoulders and into his lungs and heart. Swiftly extracting her swords she kicked him over into the snow, an aura of redness beginning to stain the ground beneath him.

Making haste to the lone survivor who was still pitifully dragging his waning body towards the gryphon, Vaedra dug her swords into his back to finish him off, but not before she retrieved her throwing daggers, wiped them clean and returned them to their hiding places on her person.

The camp was deadly quiet, the rogue's eyes scanning over her handiwork. But not yet finished...

The valley to the north was infested with kobolds and magnataur, in fact she'd helped this very camp in defense against them not so long ago. How unfortunate that they had chosen to retaliate, uniting with other nearby tribes, what a slaughter!

Dragging a few corpses to the valley and ensuring that the blood trail was convincing she returned to Tyralion's tent. Shuffling through the papers she scanned the contents, none of it looked terribly important but she pocketed them none the less.

Scrawling a quick note and sprinkling it with blood, she approached the gryphon who had become increasingly agitated once the commotion had begun. Whispering soothing words she slowly approached, her hand outstretched. It had the desired affect as her hand reached out and stroked the beast's head. Smearing some of Warren's blood onto the snowy white feathers she secured the note onto the gryphon's pouch. The message read: _Magnataur attack!_ _Need reinforcements! _Untying the bird from the post, Vaedra whispered a few more words hoping the gryphon would know where to go. Taking to the air the magnificent creature flapped off immediately to the southeast.

Her work almost complete, the rogue hurried over to the still burning fire. Grabbing one of the wood pieces she rounded the camp, setting the three tents and any of the corpses nearby aflame. She hoped her ruse would hold up, certainly the fire would prevent too much scrutiny of the wounds the victims suffered before they were burned.

Whistling to her drake she climbed on, her gaze settling one last time at the burning destruction she had wrecked. Kicking her heels she flew off into the darkness, her form absorbed into the clear night sky.

_Perfection..._ his voice echoed.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_Not even a scratch_... executed with the utmost ease, a cover created out of the fabric of nothingness, a flawless escape, and not even a scratch. Being one with the rogue's mind through it all had been, to say the least, thrilling.

Her utter focus on the task at hand while maintaining complete control and having a heightened awareness of everything that transpired around her was more than he could have ever hoped for. Present for every exhilarating moment of it, the Lich King had only seen a brief hesitation strike her once, when the moment came to slay a young girl.

Ultimately Vaedra had finished the job anyway, and though he desired to keep _some _of the humanistic traits she possessed, compassion was certainly not among them. It would not do to have her will trembling whenever she had to do something she found "distasteful".

Returning just a few short hours after her departure, the rogue appeared before him.

"Adequate," he appraised.

Nodding, she turned to leave when he cut her off.

"Oh, there is one other _small_ matter I need you to attend to before you retire..."

Vaedra tilted her head, a bit surprised. He was no fool and knew the physical capabilities of humans, surely he didn't intend on working her to death...

"Yes, master?"

Pretending to be disinterested in what he was saying, "Valiance Keep, a one Lieutenant Bricken's wife has recently given birth, they are staying at the inn there. Take them both out."

The rogue blinked, "The wife and child?"

"Yes." He hissed.

"How do you know-"

"Have you forgotten 'Counselor Talbot'? I have eyes and ears everywhere, fool!" The Lich King sneered.

Taken aback, Vaedra raised one dark brow at him. "But the wife and child? What possible strategic purpose could that serve?"

"I'm not keeping you around so you can second guess my decisions!" Pausing. "But, this human man will have no will to fight after such a brutal slaughter, renouncing his faith in the Light, no desire to live, et cetera... there is no reason a randomly selected family would attribute their loss to part of my greater plan," he justified, though the argument sounded weak even to him.

Turning to face him square on, a flicker of the defiant fire appeared in the rogue's eyes.

"Firstly, I think you do. You've kept me human for a reason, it's certainly not for the shortened life span, need for food and sleep and our 'soft, vulnerable' bodies." She knew the sarcasm was probably unnecessary but she couldn't help but let it creep into her voice. "You must have even an iota of respect for me if you allow me to walk freely and expect me to take part in your 'crusade'. I'm not some mindless undead, my unique perspective on what you do can be invaluable. And secondly, if you truly believe playing the morale game is useful here, I sincerely doubt... wait, randomly selected?" she stopped short, realization dawning on her face.

Vaedra's eyes darkened, "Oh I see... that's how you want it. Very well, _Master_, I will return presently." Venom dripping from every word, she began to stalk out.

"Firstly!" The cavern shook at the thunderous roar, stopping the rogue in her tracks; she peered over her shoulder.

"Firstly," he reiterated the use of her own words against her, "I think you might be mistaking _respect _for _ownership,_" long purposeful strides began to carry him towards the rogue. Glancing over at him, she had the ridiculous notion that the skulls that adorned his evil armor were smirking at her, that same wicked grin he wore while he thought of tormenting her. Before she could react, armored glove grabbed her shoulder, whirling her around, the other seized her throat. The pressure was not gentle.

"Firstly," he spat again. "You will not presume to be able to wrap your feeble, puny mind around my designs. You are an instrument to my success, to be wielded expertly, and with the prejudice that it has no emotions to get in the way." The hand squeezed a bit tighter.

The words registered, but all she could think of was how close to her face he was, just like before. She was consumed in the spinning blue vortex that was his eyes, his mouth curled into a contemptible grimace. Their first meeting replayed in her head, though this time he was choking the life out of her.

Blackness began to seep into her vision.

He held on a moment longer before throwing her body to the ground, gasping for air, coughing.

"And secondly..." he said more softly, slowly, his hand reaching for the orb. "...this is for your insolence."

Vaedra's head snapped back, spasms erupting everywhere on her body. Muscles unable to respond she began to shake violently. Every nerve was on fire, blood rushing in her ears. Unable to stop the scream that ripped from her throat, he watched, only allowing an ounce of the burning hate that filled him to pour into the delicate, violet orb.

-

Just as the sun began to rise over the horizon, Vaedra returned.

Upon finding the Lich King, she tossed him a burlap sack which he caught deftly.

"Next time you wish to determine the willingness with which I'll perform my 'duties', you could simply ask and gauge my truthfulness for yourself... Master." All traces of fire gone from her eyes replaced by unfeeling indifference, she turned to leave.

"I trust you will sleep well, the sun _is _just coming up." He called after her, smirking snidely.

"Don't worry, it's plenty dark in here."

Peering into the coarse bag, the infant's severed head looked back at him.

-

And so the days went as thus... a grisly mission as with the child and mother was not repeated, mostly she would see to retrieving documents or eliminating small camps, tasks that could easily be attributed to human error or other hostile forces in the area. Sometimes she would not see or hear from him for days at a time only to be contacted suddenly, her only warning being the harsh whisper of his voice in her ear.

Vaedra's home remained in her original cell, not that other accommodations were really available in the undead-infested pit. Though she was not locked in, she suspected that he enjoyed using it as a reminder that while she was free to come and go, she was still his prisoner.

Surprisingly enough, the rogue found herself increasingly restless on those days where he did not speak to her. Not that she necessarily enjoyed the killing, it was more that she needed a focus, a purpose. Something to keep her thoughts occupied and something to use as an indication that she was fulfilling her obligations. More than once her mind drifted to the possibility that she needn't have this obligation at all but in her heart she knew not only would she not have the audacity to go through with it at this point, but also knowing she could accomplish nothing dead.

_Better alive with a purpose... _she insisted to herself.

_Indeed... _came the whispered reply.

Vaedra shivered.

"What do you command of me, Master?" she spoke aloud.

_Westgaurd Keep, Sergeant Nylor Cloudrunner, eliminate him._

"And of what importance is he, Master?" she ventured.

No voice came.

Having attempted to piece together some semblance of a pattern to the Lich King's madness, the answer did not surprise her, or lack of an answer in this case. So far the events were seemingly unrelated, no indication of a larger picture being painted... but again the rogue knew that it would foolish to take that assumption for it's face value.

Sighing, she stood, and began to prepare for that evening.

-

As of yet, this was the boldest move that the Lich King had asked of Vaedra, an outright assassination. He had said the man was a sergeant however, so not especially high in station. So what purpose did he serve?

Hovering overhead on her drake she observed the keep itself. The normal bustle of the days activities had ceased, instead replaced with the dutiful patrol of guards and a few hard-working dwarves, toiling late into the night.

Dexterously landing on the roof and shooing the black dragon away, the rogue waited for the passing patrolman to turn his back before she fluttered inside the northeast tower.

It was extremely well illuminated, torchlight flickering both above and below the winding stairwell. She knew she would have to move fast, and there was no affording leaving bodies strewn around, dead or otherwise. Creeping down the staircase, Vaedra removed her mask and loosened her hair, soft strands floating gently around her face. Pulling the cowl of her cloak low and removing a bundle of papers from her pack she descended to the first floor of the keep. Looking down at herself she cursed, her swords distinctive shapes evident on her hips. She'd have to do without...

Poking her head into several rooms as she passed she saw dozens of men sleeping on rows of bunks lining the room. She sincerely hoped this Sergeant Nylor was important enough to have his own space. Coming upon a stores room, she flipped open several barrels. Finding one filled with loose grain she dug her swords down inside the barrel, concealing them from view. Hastily replacing the lids she ducked back out into the hallway, continuing her search.

"Hold it right there, lass! Where ye be off to?"

Vaedra turned to regard the dwarven defender, clad in full armor, his tabard displaying the typical blue and gold alliance colors.

Gesturing to her bundle of papers, "I bring urgent news from Valgarde of the latest Vrykul attack," her voice low and harsh.

"Aye? Well let me just have a look then..." the dwarf reached out his hand.

"These are for the captain's eyes only!" She hissed at him, pulling the bundle close. "Information straight from Guard Captain Vorek."

Attempting to peer up into her shadow-clad face, the dwarf looked at the woman suspiciously.

"Well then, I'll just bring ye up to the captain meself," he took a couple steps forward.

Vaedra sneered at him, "You certainly could do that, though I doubt he would be pleased to learn that I was detained for so very long, keeping him from this vital information..."

The dwarf noticeably stiffened at her remark, mulling over the consequences.

"Off with ye!" he muttered, waving her away.

Nodding curtly, she darted up the stairs to the second floor, the halls relatively empty. Ahead she noticed a door with a sliver of light breaching into the hallway, the door ajar only an inch. Stooping down she pressed her eye to the door and looked in.

A night elf man stood in the center of the room, naked from the waist up. His back was to Vaedra, long silvery white hair cascading in feathery strands, a single candle illuminated the room casting his elongated shadow onto the stone wall. He appeared to be examining some documents on his desk, muttering quietly to himself all the while. He began to lightly pace the room, his furtive gaze resting nowhere in particular. Once he had turned, Vaedra got a better look at him.

His skin was light, brushed with purple as was typical for a night elf. His muscular form was trim and strong, but littered with scars. Luminescent eyes seemed to pierce through her more than once as his gaze swept the room, chiseled jaw clenched in deep thought. She was unable to tear her face away, the night elf's presence oh so familiar and jarring memories that had been long buried...

_Tayvan... _Vaedra whispered to herself.

Her mind was filled with images of her past, tangled bodies in white sheets, muscular hands drawing circles across her naked back, gentle lips caressing her face. She had been so much younger then, still in her teenage years, Tayvan helping her learn her deadly craft, teaching her, loving her...

The night elf before her was not Tayvan, but it could have been his older brother. The same hair, the same sculpted features, the same lightly violet skin.

Shaking the nostalgic thoughts away, she returned her attention to the present. An audible sigh escaped the man's lips as he began to leave the room.

Vaedra barely had time to dash under a nearby table as the night elf emerged from his room, locked it and proceeded down the stairs.

Mentally scolding herself for becoming so distracted she hurried over to the locked door. Making quick work of the lock she let herself in, latching the door behind her.

Glancing over the documents littering the desk, she saw that they were addressed to Sergeant Nylor Cloudrunner.

_At least I found the right night elf... _the chagrined rogue told herself.

Shuffling through them rapidly, searching for anything that would be an indication of this man's importance she found nothing atypical. Pressing her hands against the wooden frame of the desk she knocked lightly here and there, hoping for a hidden compartment of some kind. After a few moments she discovered an extra drawer beneath the surface of the desk, a tiny latch springing it free. Reaching inside she found a stack of letters, all but one opened. Examining the wax seal she gasped at the symbol, it was one she assuredly recognized. Pulling out her dagger to use as a makeshift letter-opener, she began to slice it open.

Thoroughly absorbed in what she was doing, confused over the appearance of the wax symbol and memories of Tayvan still clouding her consciousness, the faint noise of key in lock failed to rouse her.

"Who are you? What's going on in here?" a deep, melodic voice sounded from the doorway.

Vaedra's head snapped up, the shirtless night elf standing in the doorway to his own room, his eyebrows furrowed in anger, intricate key grasped in his palm. Without thinking, she flipped the dagger still in hand towards Nylor. She wasn't sure she had thrown with enough force or that this dagger was appropriate for the task, but when the cruel edge embedded itself right between those glowing silver eyes into his skull, her heart sank a little.

As his body began to fall to the ground, the rogue sprang over the desk and to his side, trying to catch the night elf before he collided with the floor in a racket. His form slumped over her back, her knees wobbling under the weight.

_Damn, he's heavy._

Stumbling over to his bedside she laid him down as gently as she could; then swiftly running to the door to close it behind him so a curious passerby didn't see their superior officer dead with a knife in his head.

Kneeling down next to him she extracted the dagger from his face, it held a faint expression of surprise. Looking at him somewhat tenderly, Vaedra brushed a few stray hairs behind his long ears. She had to move fast, especially if that dwarven guard had decided to check up on her...

Taking the dagger she began to carve into the flesh of his bare chest, her hand was steady, but her heart was shaking. When she finished she hoped the mark resembled the same as the seal on those secret letters closely enough.

Scooping up the hidden papers and reseting the drawer mechanism, Vaedra blew out the candle and whispered into the darkness.

"Goodnight."

Fully closing the door behind her, she sprinted down the stairs to retrieve her swords, not caring who saw her at this point.

Arriving at the store room she pulled her swords free from the grain. Turning, she saw a guard rounding the corner. Pulling her weapons inside her cloak she began to walk towards him steadily.

"Ye get that message to the captain there, eh lass?"

Nodding she stalked up to him, eyes burning.

The dwarf had been convinced thoroughly by her earlier ruse so he stood rather casually as the woman approached him.

Tossing her cloak to the side with her arm, Vaedra's sword came up in a flash, sliding into the narrow slit that allowed the dwarf to see through his full helm. His stocky body spasmed and twitched for a moment impaled on her sword, blood oozing between the cracks.

Pulling the weapon free, the corpse slumped to the floor and the rogue began to run. Racing through the corridor she heard voices calling after her, ordering her to stop. Her hand reached to her belt, removing an object that looked something like crumpled parchment.

Racing to the front gate she tossed the object ahead of her onto the stone entrance. Just a moment after her feet had left the threshold a blinding light erupted behind the rogue. The two dwarves standing guard at the gate and those that had begun to take chase through the halls all let out a yell, eyes closing as the flash incapacitated them.

Turning the corner and heading behind the keep to the south, Vaedra approached the steep cliffs. Whistling for her drake, she saw it's sleek form rise up from below the ridge line. She leapt off the side, arms grasping around the dragon's neck desperately as she landed. Urging the creature away they flew off together towards Icecrown.

Angry dwarves circling around the back of the keep a moment later looked on perplexed at the assassin's complete disappearance.

-

Arriving back in her cell, Vaedra leaned back against the cool stone wall. Sliding heavily to the floor, her face between her knees, her breathing labored. The first in many years, a single tear slid down her white cheek, then another. Soon she was crying softly, until sleep took her...


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Vaedra stood on the grass-covered hill, overlooking a perfect crystal lake. The afternoon smell was crisp and clean, soft clouds sprinkling the sky, not at all foreboding of the events she knew had to occur today.

Standing at attention on the road in front of her were rows of paladins, clerics and mages, awaiting their grim instructions.

Young Arthas stood at her side, outfitted in his finest armor, blonde hair fluttering playfully in the breeze while his liquid blue eyes were set in a hard stare.

"Uther will be arriving soon..." he said more to himself than anyone in particular. Turning to regard Vaedra, his eyes swept over her form up and down.

"I'll have a word, rogue."

Mildly confused, but nodding, Vaedra followed him into the woods, far out of earshot of the road.

They walked in silence a moment. Arthas cleared his throat and began speaking somewhat awkwardly.

"I'm pleased that you're here to help with this matter today..."

His choice of words were entirely inappropriate considering what they were about to go do, but she understood what he meant and knew she had to respond at least politely.

"Of course, my prince, whatever I can do to help."

Stopping suddenly, his gaze shifted to her face intently.

"What is your name, rogue?"

"Vaedra..." she said slowly. She was unable to read the look on his face. His features looked so hard, angular jaw clenched, lips pursed. Chromie hadn't mentioned anything like this... what was going on?

She was standing an arm's length away when he brought his hand up to her face. Her immediate reaction was to draw back, pull her swords and get the hell out of there, but she'd be completely jeopardizing the mission if she did so, instead she waited to see what he would do.

Arthas' gloved hand slowly pulled away her leather mask, revealing her face to the few rays of sunlight that escaped through the trees. His fingers traced a delicate pattern on her cheek, face softening.

"Vaedra..." he breathed, trying the name out. "...you are very lovely."

Before she could respond, his hand moved to the back of her neck, holding her firmly, and drawing her into his embrace. Wrapping his other arm around her waist his mouth descended onto hers. The kiss was sweet and tender and she'd have been lying if she had said she didn't enjoy it, but confusion still clouding her mind, she pulled back gently after a moment.

"My prince, should we not be getting back? Your people need you now, they need your strength and guidance."

Looking over his shoulder towards Stratholme, he sighed deeply.

"You are right," the sadness was evident in his voice. Turning back to the woman still in his arms, his eyes traveled over her face and settled on her slightly parted lips, still flushed from their kiss.

"... but they can wait."

More insistent this time, his lips claimed hers. Urging her mouth open, his tongue slid inside, gently stroking, igniting a heat in her belly. Backing her up slowly he leaned her against a nearby tree, pressing his armored body into hers.

Vaedra tried to deny the intense physical reaction she was having, overwhelming her senses were his commanding presence, his demanding lips, hands holding her fiercely to him. Her mind searched franticly for an explanation before she gave into this entirely.

_Is this a trick of the Infinite Dragonflight? Are they trying to keep him out of Stratholme another way? Shouldn't Chromie have warned me of this?_

Clearing her head a moment she placed her hands on his chest and pushed back more forcefully.

"Prince Arthas," she gasped. "I must insist that we go back. We cannot allow Mal'Ganis to go unpunished, time is of the essence!" Her eyes pleaded with him.

Looking annoyed he seized her wrists that were resting against his chest roughly, pinning them over her head against the tree with hardly any effort.

"We'll go back when I'm ready," Arthas whispered in her ear harshly. Lowering his mouth to her neck he roughly began nipping the sensitive white flesh there.

A strangled cry left Vaedra's mouth, though she wasn't quite sure if it was from the pleasure she felt or defiance at being restrained, trying to break free.

Bringing his face back up close to hers, his gorgeous lips twisted in a cruel smirk.

"This is what you wanted isn't it? To be possessed? To have your _master _controlling you? You enjoy having me manipulate you! Your thoughts, your body, your very essence...they are all mine..." Leaving but one armored hand to keep her wrists sealed in his iron grip, the other began wandering openly across her form. Sliding over her breasts, squeezing her leather-clad hip, creeping up her inner thigh between her legs...

"What?! No!" she cried out, beginning to thrash wildly. What the hell was he talking about? Anger, befuddlement, and complete terror coursed through her. She was so good at escaping, why couldn't she now?

Sadistic laughter darkened his visage. Narrowing his eyes, Arthas hauled her away from the tree and suddenly pressed her down into the grass, keeping his weight over her.

His strength was inhuman! Even against a larger man she should at least have a chance, but all her training and discipline seemed to have abandoned her here; muscles refusing to obey, swords no longer at her sides.

The man began to rip and tear at her armor mercilessly, exposing more and more of her pale flesh, a low growl resonating in his throat. Gone was the charismatic prince replaced with this snarling beast, mouth pulled into a contemptible grimace, eyes blazing with anger and lust.

"No, stop..." the voice was frail and weak, just how she felt. What was wrong with her? Why wasn't she fighting back? The woman being held down had submitted, resigning herself to her fate.

Peering into the swirling blue maelstrom that were his eyes, Vaedra quivered.

"You're mine now, rogue..." deep voice rumbling with laughter all the while, "you are most definitely mine..."

-

Vaedra awoke with a start, sweat lacing her skin. Bringing her hand to rest on her forehead, she exhaled slowly, frozen air already beginning to cool her fevered flesh. She had half-expected to awaken with the Lich King glowering over her, sneering at her pitiful human weakness, but no, she was alone in her cell, the only sound to be heard was the mournful howling winds of Icecrown.

The dream had been exceptionally vivid, all the details of that day in Stratholme were present. It hadn't actually happened like that of course, but the dream made her wonder if it could have... The feel of his velvety lips caressing her own, the heat emanating from his body; it had felt so real.

Shaking her head, she tried to push those thoughts away... why was she even thinking about that? The pleasant encounter had turned nightmarish, all she could think of was how to escape, right? But why had her skin been so hot, why had she awoken feeling frustrated... because that's what nightmares did to you, of course. And it only made logical sense for her to dream such a thing due to the evening before's mission, seeing the night elf that had reminded her so much of Tayvan undoubtedly was stirring up long since forgotten memories. This recent occurrence plus her participation in the culling of Stratholme and frequent encounters with the Lich King would inexplicably explain the unwanted dream...

Concentrating a moment, her breath evening, she attempted to settle her focus on the constant cold presence that had invaded her mind. After a moment she found it, lying dormant like a predator stalking it's prey, but nothing extraordinary; it was as normal as could be expected of such a thing.

Satisfied with her justification for now, and having found no evidence that the Lich King was playing games with her, Vaedra settled back into her blanket and closed her eyes. But sleep would not come.

-

Sitting in her cell some hours later atop her blankets on the floor, clad in her common dark clothing, Vaedra read. Over the last couple weeks she had taken the liberty to lightly adorn her cell, whatever she was capable of taking with her after venturing out on her drake. Extra blankets to help fight the chill that seeped in through the stone walls, some basic necessities, and books... dozens of books. All different languages and genres littered the floor, any normal person observing the rogue would probably just determine that she was simply an avid reader, but certain others...

"You were seen." The Lich King stood over the reading woman in her prison, referring to her previous task in Westguard Keep.

"Yes, master." She replied nonchalantly, her eyes still glued to the page.

No other response forthcoming, "And?" He growled impatiently.

Vaedra looked up at him, craning her neck a bit to be able to see his eyes from her seated position on the floor.

"And... no one lived that had seen my face. Besides, once they see the body there will be heavy suspicion that I was affiliated with another organization..."

"I see..." he remarked, face impassive. "...and the letters?"

Taken aback, Vaedra nodded. She had nearly forgotten about them after her experience the night before and the dream still haunting her, she hadn't even thought to read the one that still remained sealed... but he knew about them. Had he known about them previously or had he simply been with her at the time they had been recovered?

Quieting her train of thought she reached for her bag and withdrew the letters, holding them up to her master.

Waving his hand in dismissal, "Why don't you keep them for now? I'm sure you'll find them very entertaining..." Smirking, he turned away from her.

"Of course..." she replied, suspiciously of course, but saying nothing more she returned the papers to her pack.

Silence permeated the room for many moments, the rogue sitting utterly quiet in her pile of blankets, the large tome still resting in her lap, the Lich King standing motionless in the middle of the room. His eyes scanned over the piles of books scattered everywhere in the meager living space. Picking up one at random he ran his hand over the tattered cover and dusty pages; Beyond the Dark Portal it read.

His back still to the rogue, "You know, Vaedra, you guard your thoughts very well, there are times when you almost would have me believe that you're the unfeeling machine you pretend to be..."

She held her breath, her body and mind still, trying to avoid anticipating what he would say next.

"... but you don't guard them well enough." With that, he casually tossed the heavy book to the floor, the noise reverberating throughout the empty dungeon.

After the echoing ceased, he chuckled darkly.

"You think I don't know what you've been doing? Trying to fill your head with meaningless garbage while I watch you, attempting to keep information hidden from me, you think playing word games with your speech will keep me from knowing the truth?"

All this was spoken with complete calm, which almost worried the rogue more than when she'd seen him in his violent rages.

Finally turning and sneering down at the woman, "Your thoughts were plain enough to see last night though, that is for certain. Tell me, who was this Tayvan?"

Vaedra's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, "He is no one." She lowered her gaze.

Focusing his energy onto the rogue's mind he found that her words had an element of truth to them, frustrated he struck back.

"Oh but surely he was someone very _dear _to you, do you not miss him?" he drawled, trying to exacerbate this obvious point of pain for her.

Contemplating her answer a moment, she replied succinctly, "No."

His eyes flared, ire began to pierce his collected exterior, what was she trying to pull? How could that be a truthful statement?

"Ahh, I see, so it is that you miss the _companionship _that he provided for you, is that it? You are so incapable of 'love', you only miss the physical pleasures he could bring you..." his gravelly voice had an edge to it, trying to slice through her hardened countenance.

Tilting her head slightly, Vaedra shrugged.

"I am only human, it is only natural that we seek it out for our survival..."

"Liar!" He hissed, lightning fast his plated hands seized her arms, dragging her to her feet and slamming her into the stone wall.

Vision clouding a moment from the collision she was instantly reminded of her dream, the face in front of her still somewhat resembling the handsome face of the prince, lips twisted into that same sneer, uncanny strength holding her still.

"So," he began, cool breath washing over her, sickly sweet smell of death invading her nostrils, "you mean to tell me that humans cannot survive without rutting like animals, mixing their fluids together, not for reproductive purposes but for their own enjoyment, is that right? That you are _incapable _of living if you don't have it with regularity... don't you see how foolish that sounds? And coming from a woman no less. I'm quite certain you have not had any children..." Vehement sarcasm leaked from his mouth as his eyes traveled down from her face to her toned, flat stomach.

Keeping her face stoic, "I did not intend to imply-"

"You know exactly what you intended!" he roared, hands clenching into her arms with more force, making the rogue wince, face scarcely an inch from her own.

"Spout any truth that fits the question and he'll see past whatever it is you're trying to conceal! Simply state any relevant reply to my query and I'll be none the wiser! Aren't you brilliant..." Abruptly, he flipped Vaedra over, pressing the front of her body into the cold stone wall, leaning his weight into her back. His form towered more than a foot over the rogues, so he lowered his head to speak next to her ear, more softly.

"See where your half truths get you? Or perhaps this is where you wanted to be all along..."

Vaedra was unable to suppress the shiver that traveled along her spine, maybe it was from the hand running slowly down her side, or his dry lips just barely brushing the sensitive skin of her ears, or his enigmatic words that promised unknown tortures...

He whispered in her ear almost as though she were a lover, hand resting against her waist gingerly for the time being... but that illusion was quickly shattered when he severely pulled away the fabric that clad her muscled legs, the tearing the only sound to be heard. That and Vaedra's breathing.

Heart beginning to race, the rogue quickly tried to escape into her own mind before the situation became any worse.

_0... 1... 1... 2... 3... 5... 8... 13..._

"Oh that's not going to work this time," he hissed at her, pushing himself closer and securing her tightly against the wall.

She was trapped between two cold surfaces, the stone slabs of her dungeon wall, and the unyielding planes of his wicked armor, her other prison.

Still wearing his plated gauntlet, his hand moved suddenly between her legs. Vaedra gasped audibly at the contact, icy metal probing her warm, sensitive flesh. Fondling her endlessly, cool breath stirring the hairs on her neck she couldn't help but wonder if his own skin would be just as cold as the unfeeling armor...

"So you wish to know what my hand feels like, do you?" he murmured harshly, reveling in her discomfort.

She froze. Had she really just thought that? He was flustering her resolve so much that she had let a stray thought such as that slip out...

Stammering, "No, I didn't mean-"

"I know exactly what you meant." Cutting her off, he removed his hand for a moment. She heard the clattering of the offensive garment as it hit the hard floor unheeded.

He left her trembling there a moment, painfully anticipating his next move.

Long fingers returned to between her milky thighs, and they were indeed chilled, but unlike the harsh metal gauntlets his flesh was soft and pliable, easier to manipulate her body with. Slowly stroking against her outer lips, Vaedra shuddered and closed her eyes, willing her consciousness away...

_Now now, none of that... we both know you wanted this, why else would you be dreaming of Arthas? _The voice in her head cruelly teased.

There was no escape for her, all of the rogue's senses being assaulted at once: cold seeping into every pore, that smell that he seemed to carry with him everywhere; almost like rotting fruit, her own heart hammering in her chest, breathing steadily becoming heavier... Not only was he invading her body but her mind as well, all of it was his for the taking.

The feel of his cool fingers against her warmth was unique, and when his ministrations became more insistent, she couldn't stop the hitch in her breath or the gasp in her throat. She silently cursed her body for reacting, like it was betraying her determined will.

_Oh yes, it's merely a physical reaction you're having, just keep telling that to yourself. _The voice rumbled with laughter. The sound was so prominent in her consciousness it was as though it originated in her head and coursed downward through every nerve, her extremities tingling.

Flicking the delicate bundle of nerves she gasped loudly, the faintest of whimpers emerged from her throat. Her breaths were coming in hurried pants, her hips unconsciously grinding against his hand searching for completion. All she could think about was Arthas in the woods, his demanding lips, his strong hands roaming across her curves... but at the edge of her vision was another entity, a dark figure with a cruel smile watching, awaiting that moment where she would reach her peak...

Desperately climbing, a slight moan escaped her parted lips, and he suddenly stopped.

Her ragged breathing was the only sound, the voice in her head quiet.

Removing his hand, retrieving his fallen gauntlet, the Lich King turned to leave.

_You disgust me... _

Not bothering to cover her half-naked body, Vaedra slumped against the stone, cold, tired and wanting...

* * *

_Author's Note: This fic has become a bit more dark than I had originally intended, and I hope that hasn't turned readers off to it. Whether you love it, hate it, think I've taken too much literary license with the lore, whatever, please take a moment to write up a quick review so I can see how I'm doing. Much appreciated ;)_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

A foot crushing the body of a serpent, the head of the snake coiling around and sinking it's fangs into the heel of it's attacker; the little known symbol for the Stormwind Assassins. The same symbol Vaedra had observed on the seals of Nylor's letters, and the same symbol she had carved into his chest after his death. The symbol wasn't usually used as a calling card, but she had been forced to improvise after discovering Nylor was affiliated with them also.

When she was younger she had contemplated the significance of the individual pieces to the emblem, her best guess being that the snake's body represented Stormwind and it's people, the foot was any opposition who threatened it's safety, and the bite itself was the hidden retaliation, the Assassins. Considering the situation she was in now, the morbid thought that it should be altered, perhaps having the hand of the person stepping on the snake reaching down to crush the serpent from behind, was present in her mind.

It was two days before Vaedra had the presence of mind to retrieve the letters and finally take a look after her visit from the Lich King. She didn't know what to think, in fact more often than not she tried not to think at all, and it was taxing. Constantly trying to steer her thoughts away from their encounter so as not to give him more ammunition to taunt her with was nerve wracking. Attempting to justify her reaction or rationalize why he'd done it in the first place only made it worse... she could never fool him, why bother trying to fool herself?

Grabbing the unopened letter from Nylor's room, she sliced through the parchment and began to read.

_My dearest Nylor,_

_I miss you terribly my love, I think about you every day! I do hope everything is all right at your post in Northrend, I know the officers can run you hard, but I know it is for your safety. Your mother is doing well, she asks about you often! My good friend Penelope visits frequently, we share stories you know. She's told me that she has a loved one at war also. It may not make you safer but at least it brings me some peace of mind, having someone to talk to. I must admit that I'm often afraid that the next letter I get from you could be your last, but I know I shouldn't think like that..._

The letter went on as such for many more lines, Vaedra sighed and skipped to the end.

…_I'll try not to worry my love, please stay safe and write again soon._

_Your beloved,_

_Matilda_

She couldn't help the smile that crept onto her face. Mathias always did have that ridiculous sense of humor...

The letter was straightforward enough for any normal person who might read it, for Vaedra it was equally as straightforward, but in a different way. There was no hidden cryptogram on the parchment, no disappearing ink, the code was in the language itself. Her mind a flurry of activity she quickly interpreted the true intent of the message.

_Nylor,_

_Keep up the updates, a daily log of your activities would be preferable. Any recent developments? There have been reports of increased hostile activity, that the attacks have been getting worse. All is well at SI:7, don't worry, I'm keeping your students in line. I'll be sending another rogue to assist you shortly, his name is Peter. He will make contact with you, so keep your cover consistent. Remember to stay alert, I know I don't have to remind you but you can't blame a man for worrying about his friend..._

The last line,

_...keep up the reports, hopefully we'll have you home soon._

_Mathias_

Using words like this was not uncommon, in fact it was the preferred method of all communication for some rogues. It could make a seemingly innocuous conversation about breakfast actually conceal vital information, or the latest turn of events in politics was actually a hidden jab at someone's mother. This 'language' was taught to rogues inducted into the Stormwind Assassins, with varying degrees of subtlety, but it was vital for the smooth exchange of information that kept them running. Mathias Shaw, the head of both the Stormwind Assassins and SI:7, took a certain whimsical standpoint when it came to using the language... Portraying himself as Nylor's girl back home, the extensive flowery drivel, it was probably just a way to embarrass the poor man.

Vaedra frowned suddenly, the gravity of the situation sinking in somewhat. Nylor was in direct communication with Mathias, even she herself had not dealt with him directly for some time, it had been years since she'd even see him last. What had Nylor been up to? She knew she wouldn't find any obvious information as to what his mission was here in Northrend, and he and Mathias were likely the only ones that knew, plus it seemed that the two had been close...

Shit.

Everything seemed to be becoming more complicated by the moment, but she supposed it didn't really matter. Her sudden disappearance after venturing into Naxxaramas was likely viewed as either an untimely death or abandonment. There was no law condemning treason amongst the Assassins since most officials and the church tended to just look the other way wherever rogue matters were concerned, but punishments within the organization could be swift and decisive if they ever got their hands on you... Likely all but a few thought her dead all the same.

Sighing, she scanned the remaining letters, though the told little more. The Assassins had given her a purpose for much of her life, and here she was striking out against them, with hardly a second thought.

_I guess they taught me well... _Ironic, she supposed.

Startled from her musings, his voice roused her.

_Come to me..._

Collecting herself, "Where can I find you, Master?"

_Follow my voice..._

Standing, not quite sure where she was going, Vaedra begun to walk. Out of her cell, up the stairs, down a long corridor, up more stairs, turn left, turn right... she had no idea where she was going, or where she was in the citadel. She just kept walking.

The rogue came upon a chamber, looking inside she saw various portals being controlled, manipulated and maintained by skeletal mages. She supposed they could just stand there all day, holding the portal open if he wished it, they never had any reason to stop. He stood in the center of the room with his back to her, helm in place and Frostmourne resting easily by his side.

Vaedra remained rooted to her spot in the doorway, eyes fixed on his long cloak that adorned his back.

_Come to me..._

Moving slowly she stepped closer. He didn't turn to face her, so she was forced to brush past him, his cape fluttered lightly as she walked by.

Standing before him he brought his massive gauntlet up to rest on her shoulder. She shuddered inwardly. He seemed to be doing whatever he could to make her nervous and uncomfortable, and it would become unbearable far too soon if she let it fluster her. Shaking it off she looked up at him, he was smirking.

"You've read the letters then?"

"Yes, Master."

"So you know what you must do."

Confused, "I'm afraid not, Master..."

She thought she saw him roll his eyes.

"No, of course you don't."

Sighing, his expression changed, it looked almost... dreamy.

"It seems you will be taking a trip to Stormwind."

Vaedra hoped she didn't look as shocked as she felt, not that it would have mattered...

"For what purpose, Master?"

"To bring me Mathias Shaw's head."

She couldn't have been more surprised even if his fist had suddenly careened into her face. Shaking her head openly she tried to voice her objection,

"I don't think you realize what you're asking--"

"I don't?" Hand tightened on her shoulder.

Taking a quick intake of breath, "Not that I would presume to understand the motivations behind your actions..."

"No, of course not," he sneered. It was a blatant lie.

She continued, "...I must insist that you at least listen to what I have to say about this. I have intimate knowledge of the Stormwind Assassin's inner workings, they are the reason I was in Northrend to begin with," hating to give that information up she pressed on. "Not only is he the most well-protected man in all of Stormwind, perhaps Azeroth itself, he is more skilled than I."

"I'm _sure_ you'll find a way," he squeezed her shoulder tighter, a reminder perhaps for the price of failure.

She gritted her teeth, "That is not all. Besides all of that, eliminating him would only be a minor setback to the Assassins. Removing him will not have the rogues scattering in all directions, there are dozens of other leaders to take his place. The work they do to protect Stormwind is invaluable and nothing short of total annihilation could make them crumble..."

The pressure on her shoulder increased, she'd have trouble lifting her arm in the near future if he didn't stop. She shifted her stance to compensate for the weight forcing her down.

"Bring me his head, I don't care how you do it. While you may be out of reach of my hand while you're there..."

_Long fingers returned to between her milky thighs, and they were indeed chilled... _she couldn't stop the memory from flooding back when he said that.

"...I don't think I need to remind you of my other methods of control." He released her shoulder abruptly, his eyes glittering.

Vaedra straightened her posture and nodded solemnly.

"Yes, master."

"Good," he murmured like he was reassuring a startled pet, "Now, I can send you to the Burning Steppes from here but you will have to find your own way back."

She nodded again. Going through portals was unpleasant enough, but this time she was sentencing herself to her own hanging...

-

As she dropped from ten feet up, tumbling unceremoniously atop the dirt and soot, Vaedra almost felt like she was free. A weight had been lifted off her shoulders and her chest felt lighter, she could breathe. She was so far away from him, maybe his grip would loosen...

_Don't take too long now... _his voice reminded, sickeningly sweet before it faded into nothing.

It was definitely fainter, but the sound still felt like a cold fist was clutching onto her heart, she was trapped.

Brushing herself off she began jogging to the east, to Morgan's Vigil.

-

SI:7 was just how Vaedra remembered it the first time she'd stepped foot into the place... completely empty. All the real activities went on behind the walls, you'd only see what the other rogues wanted you to see, that is until you became one of them, and even then...

Not bothering to hide her presence she entered the building. Stealth would have been pointless, likely they had all been alerted to her presence the moment she had entered Stormwind, and also very likely they knew why she was there. Why a rogue would return willingly after being labeled a deserter was beyond anyone's reasoning, so she could only be there for one reason...

The only movement as she walked inside was the flickering candlelight and the dancing shadows, but she knew there were undoubtedly dozens of eyes watching her.

Climbing the wooden spiral staircase, the rogue tried to not let the memories overwhelm her. So many things had happened here, but getting distracted could easily spell her disaster. One thing was certain, however, one of them had to die. Even if it wasn't he or she today, it would certainly be her tomorrow...

Arriving at the second floor, a single shadowy figure sitting stoically against the far wall greeted her.

"Vaedra..." the voice said.

"Mathias."

"It's good to see you."

"And you as well."

Silence, a moment. She took a few steps forward.

"Why have you come?" the voice asked.

"I think you already know the answer to that."

A slight chuckle, "Of course."

Another bracket of silence... she moved a few more steps.

"So who are you working for nowadays?" the voice inquired, feigning politeness.

"You know I can't tell you that."

"I suppose I do!" Another chuckle. "I cannot help but be gentlemanly in the presence of a lady, forgive me."

Vaedra allowed a light smile to brush her lips, no one would see it in the dim light... she continued moving forward.

"Mathias?" she cooed.

"Hmm, yes?"

"I have a small request."

"Oh, do you now?"

"Yes," Vaedra replied, almost on top of the figure.

"I would ask..." she was almost there, "that you dismiss your pawn and show yourself properly." With that she whirled around away from the seated figure, swords drawn.

And there he was, dagger at the ready, just behind her; grinning from ear to ear.

"Splendid!" He appraised. "I guess you got me."

Her lip twitched, their playful game was much more dangerous than he let on. Both of their weapons were drawn, she could almost hear the shadows in the room intake of breath when she had pulled out her blades, ready to strike out at any moment when the signal came.

His posture, despite the circumstances, was very un-threatening, but she knew better. The man was approaching middle age, silver just brushing his temples, though it just made him appear that much more dashing... but his body was still in top physical condition. She knew with just the slightest flick of his wrist she could be laying bloodied on the floor, but then again so could he.

Mathias' form was slight, height and weight probably close to matching her own, but it never seemed to lessen the cool presence he emitted, commanding the attention and ear of anyone whom he encountered. They stood but a few feet apart, both appearing to have the exterior appearance of calm and control, but there was certainly an underlying nervousness in the air.

"I'm glad to see you've kept your skills sharp."

"I practice every day," she half-joked.

He smiled again, but his eyes hardened and his countenance grew serious.

"It seems like it's been such a long time since we last spoke, Vaedra."

"Yes, it has."

"Dare I say that I'm rather displeased for us to be reuniting under these circumstances?"

"I imagined you would be."

He paused a moment, "You've been in Northrend, what has become of Nylor?"

Vaedra grimaced, "An unfortunate casualty."

"I see." The fall of his face was evident, the twinkle gone.

"Mathias, I need to know what Nylor's mission was..."

"Nylor has...had become a sergeant for the Valiance Expedition."

She sighed, "Don't play games with me, this is very important."

He snickered, "Games? You abandon the Assassins, murder my colleague and are now back to make your attempt at me. Pardon me for not finding the situation mirthful, my dear."

A minute crept by, eyes never leaving the others.

"Your efforts are wasted," His voice suddenly harsh. "You should know better than most that eliminating me is pointless."

"Yes, I know."

"That old mantra, about cutting off the head and the body will die? That is not true with us."

"Yes, I know."

"The Stormwind Assassins is larger than outsiders will ever realize, I am but one face out of a hundred others."

She agreed again, sadly. "Yes... I know."

"Then what do you hope to gain here? You've always been bright Vaedra, I can't imagine you working for some imbecile that would refuse to see the reason in this, surely you explained to them the pointlessness?" His eyes pleaded with her.

To anyone who didn't know the man it would seem like he was reaching for any and every excuse to save his own miserable existence, but that was not the case here. He knew this rogue well, and simply wished to uncover the truth.

Nodding slowly, she whispered again, "...yes."

Exasperated he threw up his hands, and turned, presenting his back to her and an obvious opportunity. But she didn't take it, just as he'd known she wouldn't.

"I only wish to understand, Vaedra, you know that right?"

"Yes."

Pondering a moment, he faced her again, brown eyes roaming across her face, searching for any indication as to why...

"Then," stumbling upon something, "you must have no other choice."

She said nothing, but her silence spoke volumes.

"What are they holding over you? I didn't think you had any family left that they could use against you. Money? A secret? Whatever it is, surely I can help."

She shook her head, "I cannot talk about it."

"Surely it's not nearly as bad as that, let me help you. All my resources are at your disposal, anything I can do to help, I will." He sheathed his dagger and began to move to her.

"Stop!" She warned, holding her swords in front of her and keeping him at bay. "Don't hand your head to me on a platter," voice half-pleading, half-threatening.

He stopped and looked at her, face somewhat pained. She cursed him silently, damned perceptive man was making this extraordinarily hard...

"I will do what I must," she promised, darkly.

"Yes, I know you will," a hint of pride entered his voice, but it was overladen with grief. "I'm sorry there is nothing I can do to help, but you won't be seeing me again, Vaedra."

All the remaining candles in the room simultaneously were doused out, total blackness met her vision.

Moving swiftly she slashed her swords through the space Mathias had been standing, but they found nothing but air. Positioning herself defensively in the dark she waited and listened, senses trying to hone in on any potential threats. She expected a dagger to enter her kidney at any moment but it did not come.

Rotating slowly she considered her options. Did he intend on finishing it out now, a twisted game of cat and mouse in the dark? Or perhaps he was just giving her a chance to escape...

With that thought in mind she began to head towards the stairs... when she felt cool steel press against her throat.

Perhaps not.

* * *

_Author's Note: In case anyone was wondering or missed it, I've borrowed the Stormwind Assassin's symbol from Edgar Allan Poe. Sadly Mr. Poe's work and ideas do not belong to me either =( Also all the readers who reviewed, thank you for taking the time to do so, I've greatly enjoyed writing this fic thus far and am happy to know that people have enjoyed reading it as well! Currently I do not plan to introduce the Ner'zhul personality into the story, this latest expansion focused mostly on Arthas and his erm, growth/downfall, whatever you want to call it, hehe, and I'd prefer to keep this story focused on that aspect also._


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The dagger slid against the delicate white flesh of her neck, Vaedra felt a warm body come close to her back.

Mathias breathed quietly in her ear so as the other rogues in the room couldn't hear, "This is your one chance. I don't know what they've done to you or promised you or threatened you with, but you don't deserve this, Vaedra. There are few students that I feel I know as well as you, and I feel it is my duty to make sure that this is set right."

She almost said it; she came within a breath of whispering back to him...

_Kill me._ _End this before I do something horrible, before I start liking it, hell I might already be liking it, I don't know. I'm a coward, I can't pass up opportunity, no matter the cost, kill me..._

She almost said it, but she didn't. She couldn't do it.

"Mathias, I'm no longer your student... and there is more to this than you know." she replied shakily.

"Shh, it's okay. You don't have to explain right now."

"You don't understand, the price of failure is far worse than what could happen to me here today."

He whispered back, voice subdued, "Let's worry about one problem at a time, shall we? First, we need to make this look good."

Vaedra tilted her head closer, perplexed.

"Don't worry, the others won't attack without my signal. This is a personal vendetta, now fight me!"

Abruptly he removed the dagger and brought his foot up to kick her in the back, pushing her down.

With a grunt she rolled to absorb the shock and rose with her swords drawn again. The room was still dark, but now there was movement, she was able to gain her bearings and block the dagger strike coming in from the front with a resounding clang. How he managed to hold his own wielding a single knife against her two monstrous swords she'd never know, but back and forth they want, metal hitting metal, parrying blows left and right in the complete darkness.

She felt a rush of air as his dagger narrowly missed striking her head and she couldn't help but wonder if he hadn't missed on purpose. Was she fighting for her life? No, more like fighting for her death.

"Get out of here!" He hissed under his breath.

For a split second she considered staying, perhaps she could finish her mission after all with this opportunity? Maybe she would have an advantage if he believed their fight was all an act, though feeling his wicked dagger zooming in with deadly precision had her wondering. Who was she kidding? This task had been impossible from the start, he was telling her to escape, and that's what she was best at.

The moment he gave her was wasted with her racing thoughts, Mathias' knife streaking back in, she barely got her sword up in time to prevent it from impaling her chest. Bringing her foot up she kicked out into his gut, making the man stumble back a few feet. While he was disoriented she threw some powder into the dark where she believed his face was, making him suddenly cry out. Hopefully that was enough.

Turning around she raced towards the wall, to where she knew a curtained window would be. On either side of her head she heard quick buzzes, and then thuds as throwing daggers were embedded into the wooden planks.

_Show off... _she muttered.

Barreling straight into the window, the fabric thankfully absorbing the impact against much of the glass shards, Vaedra plummeted down from the second story to the stone below. It wasn't much of a drop, but she was tangled somewhat in the draping curtains. Unable to pull her body into the correct position she landed awkwardly on her ankle.

"Shit!"

Untangling herself she sprinted as fast as her ankle would allow straight to Stormwind Harbor, but still dodging guards like it was second nature so as not to arouse suspicion.

Once the building was completely out of sight, she turned around and looked back for just a moment.

_Rogue loyalty... _she thought bitterly. Interesting concept.

-

Staring into the murky water from ship side, gentle waves breaking apart, reforming, foam touching the side of the boat, Vaedra sighed, leaning heavily against the railing. She entertained the idea of throwing herself in, finding something to weigh her to the bottom with, but not really. It was more like a forbidden fantasy, something you might think about when you're alone, but would never actually do... Succumbing to the watery depths would certainly pale in comparison to whatever it was he planned to do to her, however.

He'd probably torture her first, with that damned orb no doubt. What about after that? Would he kill her outright? Raise her as scourge, be doomed to undeath? Or would he use Frostmourne, her soul destined to be lost for all eternity in oblivion...

Cool breeze whipped her hair gently around her face, it almost made her feel nostalgic. That was odd. She felt eyes peering at her from behind, but she ignored them. A few moments later a young man from the crew of the Destiny no doubt came up and draped his arms over the rail beside her.

Inwardly she laughed, the ship Destiny was carrying her back to the Lich King. There was too much irony in her life these days it seemed...

"Nice night," the boy commented politely.

She nodded back absently.

"I'm Andy," he offered the woman his hand, grinning.

She accepted it, her amber eyes briefly locking with his blue ones as they shook. She saw his interest flickering there.

Saying nothing she turned her attention back to the sea, being alone was best...

Not deterred by her apparent disinterest he ventured on, "So what takes you to Northrend? Business or pleasure?" He was still smiling at her warmly.

"There's no pleasure to be had in Northrend, Andy." She answered darkly.

"I suppose you're right, I can't help but always look at the bright side of things though." He chuckled. "Guess I get that from my mother."

She nodded again, half listening, looking at him from the corner of her eye. He wasn't bad looking, she admitted: young and exuberant, sandy blonde hair and tan skin kissed by the sun, strong arms and back from working the ship day in and out.

They stood in silence a moment longer, the boy finally picking up on the frosty vibe the woman was emitting.

"Well, have a good evening miss..." he turned to leave.

Something inside Vaedra suddenly came over her. She reached out her hand, placing it on his forearm.

"Wait," she spoke up rather abruptly. He looked at her curiously. "Please don't go."

"Okay..." he faced her again, slightly confused. This strange woman was hardly speaking to him one moment then grabbing him the next. Not quite sure that he wanted to stick around any longer he reluctantly resumed his place against the railing. Though a moment later when she whispered his name, ran her hand along his arm and looked up at him with parted lips he forgot about all that.

"Andy?"

"Huh?" He hoped he wasn't gaping.

"Is there somewhere we can go that's more private?" she breathed.

"Uhhh, sure, I know a room." Ignoring her previously odd behavior he took her hand and led her across the ship down into the cabins.

The moment the door to the tiny space was closed behind them, Vaedra franticly began tugging at his clothes, her hands running across his chest, mouth glued to his neck.

"Whoa baby, not so fast..." he tried to interject, reaching for her own clothes. She shushed him, pressing her lips to his desperately.

Once he was naked she pushed him down onto his back on the bed, surprising him with her strength.

Undressing herself quickly she slithered on top of him, mouth and tongue stroking any available surface: throat, shoulders, chest. He tried to roll over on top of her occasionally but she'd always pin him back down. He continued to protest that she was going too fast, that he wanted to touch her too, but he stopped talking and groaned instead when she slid down onto him.

Pressing her hands to his torso, Vaedra lost herself. Repeatedly. For a few hours she was able to forget about a lot of things, she was able to be in control. All the pent up frustration and anger, confusion, the strange wanting she couldn't admit to herself was really there, she poured it all into her body to be released. And the boy beneath her with all his youth and excitement at the dominating woman taking charge was a more than willing participant.

-

He watched the images flashing through her head, Arthas pinning her to a tree, ravaging her body in the grass on the hill, pressing her into the cold stone wall, strong hands roaming freely across every curve...

So that's what she was thinking about, he laughed. When she was set up with an impossible task that she'd never really had a chance of completing she escapes into the first man's arms she meets, oh he'd have to use that later. Or maybe she was so certain that she'd be horribly maimed, tortured and destroyed once she returned she wanted one last happy memory.

His twisted game was wearing on her, that much was obvious. He'd have to put on a good face for her when she returned...

-

Always in that damned chair, she thought mockingly. Like his scores of unfeeling undead gave a damn about him and would come from miles around to lay in servitude at his feet, right... They didn't care about him. They didn't care about anything.

Maybe he preferred it that way.

Wearing no helm as was usual, she knelt before him.

"I've failed you, Master."

The Lich King looked at her a moment, stroking his chin in what appeared to be a thoughtful manner.

"So you've returned 'why', exactly? You don't appear to be dead..."

"I had one chance," she explained. "I was unsuccessful."

"Then why don't you turn your pitiful self around and go back and finish the job, hmm?" His tone was condescending, his lip upturned in a slight sneer.

"Even if I had a dozen more lifetimes, I wouldn't be able to find Mathias Shaw again; he is a ghost to me now."

She could see the anger welling up in his eyes as he rose from his throne, "I see."

He strode over to her knelt position on the floor and yanked her up by her hair.

"Worthless!" He spat in her face. "I invest all this time with you, and still I am ultimately disappointed... filth."

Her hands clung to her head against his cruel fist pulling out hairs with each shake. Through clenched teeth she gritted out, "Finish this! I'm no good to you anymore. Or are you going to let me continue to waste your time after I've surpassed my usefulness?"

He laughed somewhat maniacally, "And why exactly should I grant you any mercy, failure?"

With all her strength she gathered her voice and yelled, "Because I came back!" Her voice rung out in the frosty chamber, echoes resonating across the icy crystals.

And it gave him pause.

What she said was true enough. He had reiterated his threats often enough for her to know that failure was certain death, but yet she had returned all the same.

"You must wish for death very much, rogue."

"I didn't have to," she continued, voice lower. "I could have stayed and let the Assassins finish me off, Light knows they would have done it with far less fanfare," her voice oozed with sarcasm.

Growling he tossed her to the floor, stalked back to his throne to retrieve Frostmourne and returned to her side. Still on her knees he grabbed a fistful of hair again and held the wicked sword level against her neck.

"Very well, if that is what you wish..." He sounded so very nonchalant. She could almost feel the evil presence emanating off the sword, hungering for her soul. Vaedra closed her eyes.

"We shall fore go the 'traditional' forms of torture then and try something else." He released her hair and took a few steps away, leaving her sprawled on the floor and confused.

He turned and sent her a malicious grin, "Strip."

She looked up at him incredulously, "What?"

"Do it!" He commanded.

She couldn't help but glance around the chamber, as though she was looking for another opinion of what he'd just said, or an intervention, or perhaps to preserve her modesty, but the cavern was completely empty save the two of them.

Getting to her feet slowly, she shot him daggers with her eyes. "Fine." Mechanically, one garment after another fell to the floor. When she had reached her undergarments she hesitated.

"All of it." Smirk plastered on his face.

The remainder of clothing floated to the floor until she was completely bare for him to see, her arms twitching at her sides to instinctively cover herself but fearing the consequences.

_You're right, you wouldn't want to do that._

She shivered, the cold air prickling her flawless pale skin, goose flesh erupting everywhere. Her eyes were not downcast but they seemed to be looking past him, empty.

"Look at me," he instructed.

Vaedra did so, the distaste and hate on her face apparent. He began to walk around her, lecherous eyes appraising every inch, from taut muscle to soft curves.

"So, we're going to play a game," he cackled gleefully. "How vulnerable do you feel right now? Wait, don't answer yet. I want to give you a visual... When I'm in your head, poking around in all of your innermost thoughts, manipulating your dreams, screwing your psyche beyond recognition, it's very much like this. Like you're completely naked, vulnerable and at my mercy. So I thought..." he clapped his hands together once, "that it would be best for you to experience that first hand. Inside," he licked his lips, "and outside."

He stopped in front of her. When he spoke again not only could she hear the words aloud, but they were also resonating inside her mind.

"I'm going to ask you questions, and you're not going to pull any of your half-truth bullshit. You're going to answer how I tell you to answer, understand? I'll be watching _very_ closely," he alluded, eyes openly wandering across her body.

"Fine." She seethed.

"Fine, what?" He mocked in response.

"Fine, _Master._"

He smirked, "Very well, do you feel vulnerable right now? Yes or no."

She wanted to be defiant, wanted to spit in his face and not say a word, what was the point in this? But her better judgment argued the quicker she answered his questions, the quicker it would all be over with.

"Yes." She scowled.

She was being truthful, which pleased him. "Excellent, that wasn't so hard was it? Next, did you use all your talent and skills concerning your mission to kill Mathias Shaw, yes or no."

Vaedra hesitated, "To the best of my ability--"

"Yes or no." He growled.

"There was never an optimal opportunity--"

"Yes or no!" Yelling now.

"It can't be answered yes or no!" She replied, frustrated.

"Did you even try to kill him? How about that?"

Exasperated, "Yes!"

Calming himself, "Good, then."

He contemplated his next questions. He could ask her anything he wanted while he had her here like this, though he found that he was less inclined to ask about her loyalty and wanting to ask more about _her, _questions that she didn't want to think about let alone admit the answer to.

"Do you have any family?"

"No."

"Friends?"

Her thoughts drifted to one of Mathias' last comments, about her never seeing him again.

"No."

"So, I'm all you have in the world."

Closing her eyes, "If you could call this arrangement of ours a relationship, then I suppose yes."

"Oh that's just marvelous, I've adopted a brat whose last hope is to cling to me for support," he drawled.

"No," she insisted though he hadn't actually asked a question.

"Do you like to be in control?"

"Yes," she replied truthfully.

"And... do you like to _be_ controlled as well?"

She paused and answered carefully, "No."

He sensed the fabrication before the word ever left her lips. "Ahh, but you do," his mouth twitching in amusement he grabbed her chin, looking down into her face as he spoke.

"Did you enjoy you're boat ride back to Northrend?" He asked sneering.

She looked away, "Yes."

"Did it make you feel like you were in control again?"

"Yes," she answered slowly.

"And did you return to me because you enjoy the control I exert over you?"

"I'm not enjoying this little interrogation if that's what you mean," she spat harshly.

"It's not..." his eyes seemed to blaze a bit brighter as he pulled his hand away from her chin and began to unfasten his gauntlet.

Vaedra drew in a quick breath.

"Is this making you nervous?" He asked eagerly.

She didn't respond.

"Is it?" Pressing more forcefully.

"Yes." She admitted.

"And did it make you nervous the other night?"

"Yes," she shifted her gaze away from him again, the cold air permeating her bare skin had made her start to tremble.

The gauntlet clanged to the floor.

"But you liked it, you liked what I did to you."

She wanted to emphatically scream No! But she couldn't, she said nothing, the guilty response was written all over her mind. Oh yes, she definitely had.

Her breaths came quicker, but this time they were in anger. "Are you quite finished with this?" Why was he asking all these meaningless questions if she was to die today? Surely he had more important dastardly things to see to...

"Not really," mouth curved slightly up, white eyebrow raised.

"Well I have a question for you!" Her liquid gold eyes looked at him heatedly, ready to boil over.

"Do you now?" He could indulge her one question.

A cruel smile played on her lips, her accusation might be childish, but maybe it would incite his anger.

"When you look at me standing here, completely bare, do you even feel anything? Yes you want to humiliate me and be in control, but you still have a man's body do you not? You have no heart," her finger jabbed his armored chest where the heart should be, "does that mean that blood no longer pumps through your veins? Does everything even _work _properly?" She let her gaze fall past his chest downward.

He seized her arms brutally, metal hand on the right, unarmored on the left, snarling in her face, "Do you want to find out?!" His fingers dug into her arms, the pressure undoubtedly leaving bruises to form later.

"I can see now why you had to use your hand." She pressed on, grinning smugly. He wiped that look off her face with a resounding slap, her mouth filling with blood.

_Damn, not again... _she thought.

He flung her to the ground next to her pile of clothes. "Get dressed and get out of my sight before you do something you'll _really _regret," he promised darkly.

Vaedra looked down at her discarded clothing then to the forgotten Frostmourne laying on the ground, confused. "But I thought..."

He waved his hand dismissively, anger bubbling under the seemingly calm exterior, "You'll not be getting off so easy."

Wondering if that last statement was an implied double meaning, she hurriedly dressed and left him.

Seething with anger The Lich King retrieved his fallen sword. Letting a furious yell escape his throat he impaled it into the frosty ground. Fists clenching and unclenching he stalked around the room. Why had she even asked that? The only intentions he had been able to see was her desire for revenge and humiliating him. It was infuriating. He'd gotten her to admit that she had enjoyed his touch, a victory for him, but then she'd turned it back around and asked a question like that without a hint of wanting evident in her thoughts. If he hadn't sent her away he very seriously might have killed her in anger.

"Little bitch..." he spat distastefully. It wasn't the insult to his manhood that invoked his ire, he was the Lich King, those mortal concerns had long since fled, it was her insolence; her own apparent disregard for whether she lived or died. Sometimes it seemed that she was on the verge of breaking, and being just the obedient, little human assassin he wanted and then there were other times, where she took his manipulations in stride and even seemed to redirect them back. He hadn't nearly the control over her thoughts that he'd boasted about to her, and it was surprisingly more difficult to unravel her intentions then he'd originally anticipated.

He supposed he just wasn't fucking with her enough... that would have to be remedied.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Mathias Shaw sat at his desk, small spectacles perched on his nose. He had taken to wearing reading glasses only recently, he supposed his age was finally starting to catch up with him. Quill in hand, staring at the parchment before him, he pondered what to say exactly in the message he composed.

"Master Shaw?"

Without glancing up from his work, "What can I do for you, Lila?"

The young woman's face appeared to be scowling, but that was just a permanent fixture on her mouth. Red hair cut short and freckles splaying across her slightly upturned nose looked down at the man at the desk.

"I had a question for you, I don't wish to second guess your decisions sir, but..."

"You wish to know why I never gave the signal, why I chose to engage her alone."

She nodded.

Sighing, he placed the quill down and slowly removed and folded the spectacles from his nose. Finally looking up at the girl he spoke, "It was my call, and I made a poor decision. That woman has hurt me personally, and I let my motivations for revenge get the best of me. I was only thinking of myself, not the rest of you, and I'm sorry."

"Sir you really don't need to apologize, we were simply wondering--"

He held up his hand, cutting her off. "Yes, I do. My actions could have put you or one of the other rogues at risk. My pride and eagerness to dole justice out myself clouded my vision, it was a grave mistake. That woman is exceedingly dangerous, the destruction that she could wreck," he shuddered at the thought, "could be catastrophic."

Regarding Lila closely a moment, "She will return to Northrend no doubt, her interference with our agents there will likely continue. We must put a stop to it, our work is too important. That is why," he hesitated, as though he was divulging extremely sensitive information, "we will be assembling a team to go to Northrend and eliminate this threat. I'm going there myself. We cannot let the situation intensify."

Taken aback, the girl insisted, "But sir!"

"Please Lila, it's too important. I must see this through. I'm trusting you to keep this information safe, can you do that for me?"

Closing her mouth, she nodded fervently. He was entrusting her with a secret.

"Of course, Master Shaw." She bowed slightly.

"Good. Please resume your work, I have much preparation to do."

He silently watched her go. Resuming the quill on parchment he wrote a brief message. The gentle words and subtle nuances belied the real weight behind his letter. If he was right about this, he could be putting many lives at risk, including his own, but he needed to convey the magnitude of the real situation.

They were in trouble.

-

Vaedra was disgusted with herself. What was wrong with her? Mathias had practically shoved her out that window himself to save her, yet still she had hesitated, wondering if she could exploit the situation. A better opportunity to complete the mission became available, and she'd actually considered taking it, betraying her friend and mentor's trust while he was risking his own neck to help her. And then after it all she had still returned to Northrend, her only loyalty seeming to lie with the Lich King. Not only did this imprisonment deserve to be her fate, she had earned it. Playing fair wasn't in her vocabulary, being ruthless and cold; she was as bad as him

She looked as battered as she felt, ankle slightly sprained, bruises forming on her jaw and arms, though she smiled weakly at the memory of how she'd gotten them. She knew she couldn't continue as such however, her minor victories were few and far between and he had every advantage. Their games of manipulation seemed never ending, some of it subtle, some blatant, but ultimately she wouldn't be able to last the way she was playing now. He wouldn't be killing her... yet, but making her think he would was almost as effective.

She couldn't keep mentally preparing herself for death, nor was it an acceptable state of mind to be in constantly. He intentionally sent her on an impossible mission just so he could observe her thoughts and actions, and so he could make her anticipate death again. So he would have an excuse to torture her, not that he needed one, but she'd fallen right into it. That's what he had told her, pain first, then death, so naturally she just accepted it when the time came.

Could she be indifferent? Vaedra didn't know. Could she just not care and let it happen whenever it was going to happen? It was a frightening thought. Going down that path only seemed more bleak, further away from her humanity, and moving any more in that direction than she already was terrified her severely.

These questions and more swirled through her brain, including the ones which she'd left him with. At the time she'd only wished to anger him, hoping he'd end his malicious game, but now she found herself seriously considering the answers...

He'd removed his heart, declaring it was the last remnant of his humanity. Was there any part of him left that was still a man?

-

"I'm not sure I can hold here much longer," the lich's image hissed.

The Lich King remarked stoically, "It will be taken care of."

"By your new human pet?" The skeletal apparition cackled back.

Scowling, "She is not your concern."

"Anything that takes up so much of my lord's precious time should be my concern," Kel'thuzad replied, still grinning snidely.

The necromancer was unswervingly loyal to the Lich King. In life he had abandoned a prestigious career and political position within the Kirin Tor to seek out and serve him, and later was raised from the grave as a lich to serve him further in undeath. Arthas himself had been responsible for both the man's death and eventual reincarnation; they became allies, and in a way friends. Though the Lich King shattered alliances and betrayed minions like they were nothing, he held a respect for the former sorcerer. Now he served as the Lich King's obedient lieutenant and guardian of Naxxaramas, though it had been under constant assault from the 7th Legion and the abundance of mercenaries flowing in from the south...

"The 7th Legion is persistent," Kel'thuzad continued, "and if I recall correctly it was your little human rogue herself that dispatched Thel'zan from Wintergarde Keep's catacombs rendering us very much defenseless against their attacks."

"Yes..." the Lich King murmured, looking away from the suspended image. "And so she shall be the one to make the first strike against them. Once they are out of the way we will be free to focus on the Argent Crusade, and the Knights of the Ebon Blade of course..." he chuckled at the thought of setting her loose against Mograine and his death knights.

"What is your interest with this one, my lord?" The lich pressed. "She is human and weak. Talented, yes... but ultimately flawed."

"Her humanity allows her to go places where others cannot. Of course there's a reason for it, have you forgotten the sacred task I charged you with before your death? The Cult of the Damned came about from your _humanity, _allowed you to manipulate the other weak-minded wretches into my servitude with your empty promises and carefully woven words," the Lich King sneered at his subordinate's image.

"Of course, I have not forgotten," Kel'thuzad replied smoothly, bowing his head slightly. "I do not doubt your methods or intentions, my king. Just call it my undying curiosity... I will keep you updated on our situation here, but before a fortnight is over I hope your pet comes through for us." The lich faded from view, the magic keeping the image stable flickering out.

_Fool... _the Lich King muttered. What exactly had Kel'thuzad been insinuating? It wasn't as though the human was around for recreation, and his manipulations could take time.

Quietly he slipped into her thoughts...

-

The young girl swung happily from the apple tree overlooking a cozy cottage, colorful flowers and an assortment of fruit-rich plants adorned the yard. Warm and inviting, the house was painted a sunny yellow, resting snugly against a nearby hill. A gray striped tabby snoozed peacefully on the porch, while another orange one amused himself chasing squirrels.

A sweet looking girl: dark hair, a bright smile, and fair skin that made her cheeks look all the more rosy, she couldn't have been older than seven or eight winters. Basking in the warmth of the sun and munching on a cool apple, she relaxed against one of the larger branches, daydreaming of adventures, kittens and whatever else it is little girls think about.

Spotting an apple nearly doubling the size of any others, she squealed happily, plucking it from the branch and jumping down from the tree.

"Gramma! Gramma!" She called, leaping over the sleeping feline and pushing the door in.

The cottage was quiet, the gentle hum of the outdoors the only sound to be heard. Peering around the small living space the girl wondered if her grandmother was napping.

Moving towards the kitchen area her heart stopped when she spotted a crumpled form on the floor. The apple rolled from the girl's hand to the floor, forgotten. Rushing to the elder woman's side she began shaking her shoulders, tears forming in the dark-haired girl's eyes.

"Gramma, wake up!" she cried when her touch failed to rouse the fallen woman. "Please wake up!"

Rising from the floor the girl looked around. Only the two of them lived in the tiny cottage together; she'd only briefly explored the nearby area and didn't know of any neighbors nor knew how to get to Stormwind.

Running outside, the cat darting away from the approaching thunderous feet, the girl emerged through the doorway, her eyes franticly searching.

"Help! Someone help!" She called fruitlessly. Her voice seemed to die in the wind. Glancing up and down the small dirt road that passed by the house she felt despair wash over her. There wasn't a soul in sight.

Defeated, she plopped down on the doorstep, drawing her knees to her chest, and cried. Everyone always seemed to leave her, she was so young and weak there was nothing she could do to protect them...

Looking up a moment later she thought she saw a figure approaching along the road from the south. Quickly wiping her face she sprinted towards the visitor, not knowing or caring who it was.

As they drew closer she waved her arms, crying out, "Please stop! Please help!" A man on horseback riding nearly full speed came into view, black cloak billowing out behind him as he rode. The girl prayed that he would stop.

Seeing the distressed figure of a small girl, the man slowed his horse and stopped alongside her.

"Greetings little one, what can I do for you?"

The girl was awe-struck. The horse was a magnificent black stallion, strong and lean, but the man perched atop it was even more breathtaking. Clad from the neck down in full plate armor, dark and intimidating, he looked to be a warrior or paladin of some kind. He was extremely handsome, but in an odd way. His face was angular and pleasing, no lines marring his youthful skin, but his long hair was strangely white. Impossibly blue eyes peered down at her, and a disgustingly charming smile almost made her forget why she'd stopped him in the first place.

The girl's eyes were wide, tear streaks evident in the dirt upon her face.

"Please sir, you must help my gramma, she won't wake up!" She pleaded, hands clasped in front of her.

The man regarded her a moment, "Indeed? Well let's see what I can do." Sliding gracefully off the horse's back he began to lead it casually towards the cottage, the girl trotting behind.

"Excuse me sir, but are you a paladin?" The girl asked nervously.

He stopped and glanced back over his shoulder at her. "Paladin? Why yes, how very astute of you!" He smiled at her again.

She didn't know what that word meant, but his continuous grin was making her feel strange. She'd been utterly distressed one moment, but became eerily peaceful upon his arrival.

She watched him lead the horse over to the apple tree and stop before it. Lazily reaching up and twisting a single ripe fruit from the branch he took a large bite, juice dribbling down his chin. Closing his eyes and murmuring at the sweetness, he took another bite.

The girl didn't know what to do, he didn't seem to be in any hurry, but he'd said he was a paladin! The stories she'd heard told of their selfless and great deeds, defenders of the Light and all the goodly races who followed it. She didn't want to insult him somehow but her grandmother needed him.

Tugging on his hand gently towards the direction of the house, "Please sir, you must help her, you must make her wake up!"

The man looked down into the golden eyes, tears threatening to spill over, lips quivering.

He nodded, "Very well." Feeding the remainder of the apple to his horse, he knelt down to be at eye level with the girl. A multitude of emotions were apparent on her face: fear, curiosity, trepidation...

"Tell me, little one, what would you do to save your grandmother?"

"Anything!" She blurted out before taking a moment to think. The girl sniffled, "She's all I have left, sir. I-I thought that paladins helped people for free though, I don't have any money..."

He smiled at her again, "Oh no, money is not my concern, my dear. I was thinking more perhaps that you would like to come with me. I am in need of a, hmm, squire?"

Confusion clouded the girl's face. "Squire? I'm not a boy, sir. I don't know... can't I decide after you help her? She might be running out of time!"

The man scowled lightly, "Time does not matter, if she was faithful to the Light than I will be able to sense it, and allow her to return to you. But I was not asking, consider it a trade between you and I. My help for your services, she's worth it to you, isn't she?"

"Of course she is!" The girl cried. "I'll do it, whatever you want, just please!"

Satisfied, the man rose and gestured towards the cottage, "Lead the way." Taking his large hand into her own she led him inside.

He had to stoop slightly to fit inside the tiny cottage door, though he appeared extremely out of place amongst the comfortable furniture and pleasant décor. More than one cat roamed freely about the house, napping in nooks and crannies.

Leading him to the kitchen, the girl gestured inside, unable to bear looking at the form of her fallen grandmother.

The man stepped over the elderly woman's body and knelt down, thoughtfully removing his heavy gloves. He placed his hands on her neck for a moment before removing them and settling on her back.

The girl peeked around the corner to see what he would do. His hands were placed upon her grandmother's back with his eyes closed. She expected to see brilliant radiant light emanate from his hands, or the sounds of the heavens returning her spirit to her body, but there was none of that. Instead a faint crackling of black energy seemed to course from the paladin's person downward into the back of the woman. The girl gasped when the body twitched, then lay still.

Standing and replacing his gloves the man moved back to the girl's side, preparing to escort her out of the cottage. "Let's go, little one, you have training to begin."

"W-what? Wait!" Her eyes glued to the form on the floor. "She hasn't woken up yet, I want to be here when she does so I can say goodbye." She was sniffling again.

"If you insist," the man sighed impatiently. The waited many minutes.

The form twitched again, then stirred a moment later, slowly beginning to rise.

The girl turned and smiled elatedly at the man behind her before rushing over to her grandmother. "Gramma!" Hugging the woman fiercely.

The body grunted, but made no move to hug the girl back. Looking up into the face the girl at first thought that her grandmother was just disoriented, but searching a moment longer showed dead and expressionless eyes.

"Gramma?" She asked again, lip trembling.

The jaw was slack, eyes rolling uselessly back and forth in her head, limbs were like jelly, it was amazing the woman was able to stand.

The girl took a step back. "What's wrong with her?" She cried out, distressed.

The man laughed, "You said to wake her up, so I did."

She didn't know what to think, he would fix her properly right?

The elderly woman's body suddenly began to convulse, limbs flailing, face contorting horribly. A sick crunching sound could be heard as her bones seemingly rearranged themselves. The flesh rotted and fell away before the girl's eyes.

She screamed.

She didn't know how long, but she couldn't tear her eyes away, the sounds ripping from her throat. She felt trapped, on one side was the shattered remains of her beloved grandmother, and on the other was the beautiful stranger who had seemingly made her that way.

"What did you do?! I thought you were a paladin!" The girl screeched, backing into the kitchen wall away from the monstrosity.

The creature's hair had begun to fall out, hands twisting into horrible claws, muscle and bone exposed across the body.

The man laughed again, the cruel sound resonating in the girl's ears. "I _was _a paladin, little one. Now I'm something else. But I've helped her as promised, awoken her by your request. It's amazing how similar the powers are between the Light and dark, just the application of them that can change things drastically... But now we must go, uphold your end of the bargain."

"No!" She cried. The girl began to run; it was a foolhardy move but she had no where else to go. The man easily plucked her from the ground, turning her to look at the beast he'd created.

"Isn't it magnificent?" He hissed at her, still smirking wickedly.

The girl kicked uselessly in the man's grasp, tears streaming down her face. She had never wanted this, the man had perverted her pure intentions... but she also felt guilt. If she had been more specific maybe this wouldn't have happened, she had let her emotions cloud her judgment, asking vaguely for help and stopping the first person she saw. It was all her fault...

Finally motionless, the creature stood fully transformed into all of it's undead glory. It's master beckoned the thing over.

"NO!" The girl thrashed more wildly, desperate to escape the approaching figure. The man held her tight, he was still laughing!

The beast lurched towards it's master and the girl in his arms, she shrieked until her throat was raw as the creature's fleshy, rotting hands came up to rest on her neck and shoulders...

"No!" Vaedra yelled, corpse-like hands gripping her while she slept...

* * *

_Author's Note: I apologize that this chapter took a bit longer to update, but I couldn't seem to get it quite right. I hope it doesn't come across as filler, I wanted some important things to happen but still be interesting. More good stuff to come soon though ;)_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The dark leathery hands were gripping Vaedra's shoulder, a single eye peered down at her curiously. Kicking out with all her strength at the creature's abdomen it flew backwards to the other side of her cell, colliding with the stone wall. It made a horrible muffled sound as it was abruptly struck and flung away.

"Mmmmphhhrr!"

Reaching for her dagger, the rogue prepared to pounce on the invading geist and stick it to the wall, though she hesitated a moment as it began making hurried gestures amidst it's mumbling.

"Mmmrrph... wait..."

"What do you want?" She hissed at the pitiful thing, this particular undead was quite frail.

"The master...mmph, wishes to speak with you." The geist finally managed to wheeze out.

Vaedra crouched low in anticipation, "Then why did he not simply contact me himself?" She threw at it warily.

"The mmrr... master did not wish to disturb your rest, he ordered me to send you to him."

_Like hell he didn't... _she hoped he was listening.

"Oh, of course..." she agreed, remembering her dream.

Her body was still slightly shaky from the sudden intrusion and particularly disturbing nightmare. Lowering her dagger she stood up straight, the geist blinked at her.

"You can go now..."

It blinked again, "Mmmrr, the master wished me to bring you to him."

She sighed, exasperated. She supposed it didn't really matter if the thing watched her change, it's not like it would care, but that one eye peering at her constantly was mildly unnerving...

Gathering her armor and equipment she hastily geared up, the geist's gaze never leaving her; she nodded to it. It scampered away on all fours, the rogue walking quickly behind to keep up.

Moving silently behind her undead escort, Vaedra regarded her surroundings. The inside of the Icecrown Citadel was just as cold and barren as the rest of it, including its esteemed master... There were no fires, no artwork, no adornments of any kind. Stone and metal were the only sight at every turn, but she supposed that's all it really needed. Any scourge they encountered along the way would amble along, oblivious to everything save whatever task it had been ordered with, the sound of their trudging bodies scraping across the hard ground seemed to come from everywhere. It would not be difficult to become lost in the place.

They climbed upward, seemingly up and out of the glacier for what seemed like eternity. She sighed at the tiresome and completely unnecessary journey, did he want her to see his 'charming' abode or did he just enjoy having her perform meaningless tasks?

At last they stopped, a section of wall sliding aside admitting her exit into the harsh winter winds. Stepping into the bitter cold, she observed the Lich King, looking out into the distant ramparts that lined Icecrown. Dark clouds were a permanent fixture in the sky here, echoing the storm that raged on the lands below. His cloak fluttered in the wind, sword pressed into the ground between his hands; he completed the morose picture nicely.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" He rumbled suddenly.

Not sure what he was referring to exactly, Vaedra's eyes traveled across the landscape. The unforgiving black spires of his domain were present on every dark structure, imitating the same spikes that adorned his evil helm. Scores of undead patrolled the ramparts, tirelessly working, or unendingly standing until they were needed for combat or some other purpose. Any visible snow was dirty and gray, the air itself tainted with smoke from siege weaponry and carrying the moans of tormented across the land. It would be difficult to imagine the region as it was before being ravaged by the scourge, so ingrained into the essence of it they were.

The rogue stepped up alongside the Lich King, her gaze sweeping downward. "It is certainly... awe-inspiring."

He chuckled at her carefully chosen words.

"I trust you slept well..." he asked abruptly, the tone mocking.

"Always." She coolly answered back.

Her intentional lies were like vicious little slaps, she knew he could sense them yet she made them all the same.

"They are perfect..." she remarked suddenly, eyes still fixed on the sight below; this time a fully truthful statement.

The Lich King regarded her, "You think so, do you?"

"Yes," she explained, looking out at the hideous giants sewn together from corpses of all kinds. "They require no sleep, food, shelter... they have no fear, they care not if they lose soldiers in battle, their morale will not break if the odds are overwhelming against them. They require no rallying or leadership, you simply give them their objective and they do it. And when your enemies fall... they rise again, only this time to serve you as well." She shook her head, scowling. "It disgusts me to admit it, but it is perfect."

"Indeed..." he smirked, mildly surprised at her admission. She could be cold and calculating, perhaps it was not so far-fetched to believe that she could see the beauty of his army...

The pair stood in silence a moment.

"The time is upon us to strike out at the heart of the 7th Legion, they've continued on unmolested long enough. Wyrmbane's endeavors grow tiresome, and Naxxaramas' defenses are failing. They must break, instill doubt into their soldiers and eliminate their commander... I will take care of the rest." He spoke evenly, eyes never leaving the scene before him.

"That is a bold move..." she contributed, hoping for more details.

He sneered, "Are you going to declare that this is an impossible task also?" Head turning slightly to bore into the rogue next to him.

"No, it's quite possible. It will be difficult, but definitely possible." She continued, outwardly unbothered by his stinging remark. "However I'm afraid I'm in no shape to do so at the moment... Master," she tagged on the title almost as an afterthought. She would need to be in top condition, and her ankle was still ailing from her earlier fall.

He considered her statement a moment. "You have a fortnight, not a day more."

Vaedra raised a brow and looked up. "That seems awfully generous..."

"Not a day more." He reiterated, offering nothing beyond that.

She shrugged and nodded, she could ponder all day his intentions for allowing her the extra time.

The quiet that ensued was suffocating. Her feet itched to be away from his presence, the memory of his interrogation still fresh in her mind, but from that same night had come many questions that she couldn't help but wonder the answers to...

"Ask your questions." His voice carried a hint of amusement.

Slightly shocked at his interjection, "Are you certain, Master?" She asked cautiously.

He chuckled, "Speak... it would not be in my interest to have you nursing more wounds before you've completed your task, now would it?"

While his logic was not lost on her she was wary nonetheless.

"Arthas..." she began, making his head snap to the side, eyes blazing at her through the wicked, metal helm, "... never actually died, did he?"

His stance relaxed. After a moment, "I suppose you're not looking for the metaphorical answer."

Vaedra shrugged, content with any answer at all.

The Lich King sighed visibly, and began to speak.

"Ner'zhul's spirit was encased in this armor, able to communicate telepathically with various beings, but not able to move. When Arthas pierced the Frozen Throne with Frostmourne and donned the armor, his consciousness and Ner'zhul's were fused, their memories and thoughts in tact. They were combined and absorbed into what you see here, one entity."

"So parts of Arthas' personality remain..." she ventured.

"Of course, it must," he continued. "Arthas' form became the embodiment of what I am now, allowing me mobility where I had none before. Both his body and mind are in tact, though to say that the man himself were still alive..."

Vaedra nodded, surprised when he continued.

"This body is filled with dark energy, a manifestation of my will to make it unimaginably strong and resilient. It cannot be allowed to wither and rot away, lest the vessel of my consciousness be lost. The body is mortal, yet immortal. Breathes, but does not breath. Feels... but does not feel. I do not expect you to be capable to fathom all of this, but suffice it to say," he paused, "this form is more than capable of performing the feats of man and much much more..."

The various meanings of his statement were not lost on her. Still refusing to look into the swirling blue depths of his eyes, "And... the heart?" She asked carefully.

"Yes, the heart..." he said achingly slow.

She could feel his gaze, heavy and searing upon her.

"Need you ask?" He sneered at her.

"I've... touched it." Her hand burned at the memory, and she immediately felt herself a fool for making her words sound like they implied more than they did. She'd touched his heart indeed...

"I remember," he hissed. "I assure you, it's safe, away from prying hands..."

Vaedra would have sworn she could no longer feel the chill of the air with the heat of his eyes bearing down on her.

"The boy, the spirit watching over it..."

"Boy?" He asked, truly surprised.

"Yes..." she was puzzled by his reaction. "He said his name was Matthias Lehner, that he'd watched you throw the heart down the pit beneath Icecrown Citadel."

The Lich King mulled this over, considering the implications. He certainly had no knowledge of any such spirit, but the boy's name... Everything the rogue had said was accurate as she remembered it, or at least she believed it to be.

"Is it true?" She dared to ask. "Do you really believe that it's the last remnant--"

He growled suddenly, "Enough! No more questions for now, else I might not be able to maintain to my previous statement of leaving you uninjured..."

The wind howled; Vaedra's eyes were down, biting her lip softly. There was more she still wished to know, but was satisfied in what she'd been able to learn.

"Thank you," she began awkwardly, not sure why she cared. "For answering." And she slipped away, beginning the long trek back to her cell, determined not to deviate from her previous path.

When she was gone, he cackled. Humans, so very predictable...

-

For a week, she merely watched.

Blending in with the other adventurers at Wintergarde Keep was easy enough, she'd been among them herself not too long ago. Her disguise was simple: dirt smudged on her face, hair hanging loose beneath a tarnished metal helm, substituting her traditional leather armor for chain and donning a large axe on her back. The weapon was bulky and clumsy in her hands; she hated it, but it was mostly for show. Not daring to divulge in her normally reserved room at the inn, she was forced into regular accommodations.

Stuffed to the brim with rowdy mercenaries, it reminded her of the evening she'd braved Naxxaramas with Darge and his companions. The weeks that had passed since that night seemed to have stretched and twisted, leaving her sense of time vaguely distorted. Was that her own imagination playing tricks on her or a side effect perhaps of something else...

She loathed the actions she had to perform here, they ultimately led to the cursed conclusion she knew would befall the soldiers and citizens who resided in the Keep, many of which she had rescued and aided personally. The Lich King had instructed her to instill doubt, maybe the fate they would suffer as deserters would be less than whatever doom he intended to spell out upon the denizens? Possibly, but she had little time, unlikely long enough to rouse a significant portion of them to depart.

So, for that first week, she merely watched.

Vaedra watched the High Commander Halford Wyrmbane. She watched his movements, his habits, his whereabouts, his friends. She watched as he rose at the same early hour every morning, a disciplined soldier to the last as he woke with the rest of his men. She watched as he would bark out orders, giving harsh words that ensured no failures be repeated or curt praise where it was due. She even watched one evening where he dared drop the stony exterior to laugh and joke with his fellow men, and though they drank and told heroic stories from battles long past, the nervous buzz of anticipation was ever present. The threat that lurked at their doorstep would never relent, and never needed take morale boosting nights off.

She observed the changing of guards surrounding the keep and the High Commander's room itself, disciplined of course, but she found holes in their schedule that she could exploit later; a few seconds was often all she needed.

As the days of that first week trickled by, she tried desperately not to see the _man_:the charismatic leader, the brilliant strategist. Though his face almost perpetually concealed beneath a giant horned helm certainly helped, it weakened her heart whenever she heard his passionate battle cries and seeing the hope it stirred within those under his command and those he protected.

On the eighth day, the rogue finally emerged from the shadows, albeit keeping her head low. While no one should suspect her treachery should they recognize her, she preferred to remain under the illusion that she had perished in the nearby citadel.

Looking specifically for younger recruits she began doing odd jobs, retrieving supplies and such, sparking conversation so she could play on their doubts of ever leaving the wretched frozen wasteland of Northrend that had crept into their bodies. Wintergarde was holding for the time being, certainly better since the lich within their own catacombs had been dispatched, but it still fell under constant bombardment. Chipping little by little at their defenses, the undead number only rose, and Legion soldiers that fell simply strengthened it more.

"So how long have you been stationed here?"

"Ten months now," the soldier looked grim.

"I bet it seems like longer..."

"Oh, it has." He managed a small chuckle.

"I'm sure your family misses you."

"I think about them every moment I have, they're what give me the strength to keep fighting, hoping I'll soon get to leave this hellhole and get back to them."

"Everyone here fights so valiantly, but I hear the walls shake and feel the chill in my bones, I fear soon the undead will break through... dying out here is definitely not how I'd prefer to go that's for sure."

He shuddered, "Aye, friend. Nor I."

"The High Commander seems a good man, trying to keep everyone in good spirits, but no number of well-spoken speeches and heated cries of glory can hide the truth of a losing battle..."

The man nodded solemnly, weighted down by the words.

On the ninth day, she went into his room, just to make sure that she could. It was the only real opportune space for an outright assassination.

The room was large, given to the High Commander for his station though it appeared he hardly used it or appreciated the gesture for it was sparsely furnished. A massive oak desk occupied the center, armor and weapons lie haphazardly against the walls. Behind the desk two wooden stairs lined the length of the room, leading up to his bed and wardrobe, slightly sectioning off the bedroom area from the rest of the space. Peering around Vaedra knew she'd have to come back once more to secure a hiding place, she couldn't very well hide in the man's closet.

The tenth day continued on much like before, taking careful observation of the guard patrols, assisting townsfolk with chores, earning extra silver from the lower ranking soldiers...

Vaedra sat outside behind the inn, taking a brief rest and eating some of the Legion's standard dry rations when a masculine voice greeted her.

"Heya there, girly."

Looking up to the form with the weathered voice she took an immediate disliking to the man. Everything about him seemed rough, evidence of a life lived hard. Stubble prickled against his tanned, swarthy skin topped by tousled brown hair, square jaw was clenched grinning down at her. It may have been the angle in which she looked up at him was his eyes were so brown they appeared almost black. He was clad in studded leather armor, looking as worn as he did and had a large sword strapped to his back. She supposed he might be attractive in a rugged sort of way, but the swagger in his step, superiority in the way he'd addressed her and hard stare of his dark eyes had her wary instantly.

Turning away from him she went back to her food. "I prefer to eat alone."

He laughed, a gravelly sound.

"I don't want to bother you girly, but I couldn't help but notice, that axe of yours is awfully large. You think you can handle something that big? Wouldn't want a little thing like you getting hurt."

Behind him she heard snickering, two more men leaning against the inner stone wall of the Keep's defenses, likely the rough man's entourage...

"I can handle it just fine." She cursed silently at having her helm off for her meal, she had sought privacy behind the inn for a reason.

"What's your name, girly?"

She wanted to deck the pompous ass but knew she couldn't start a commotion, she didn't need anyone recognizing her, which would complicate matters greatly...

"Why I should tell you?"

"Aww, don't be like that girly. I'll play nice I promise. I just haven't seen you around here before, and I think I know all the ladies rather well," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I'm here for the same reason all these other adventurers are here, to make some coin."

He laughed, "Course you are." Sitting down next to her he extended his hand. "I'm Marcus, Marcus Rose."

Vaedra snorted at the name, he probably believed women thought it charming. Hesitantly she took his hand, hoping he'd leave afterwards. "Sylvia." She replied.

"Pleasure, Sylvia." He held onto her hand longer than was necessary.

When she went to pull away he grabbed her suddenly and pulled her into his lap. "Now Sylvia, let's say we see what you got under this armor, eh?" Laughter erupted from his throat and from those of his friends.

Her chain-covered fist collided with his jaw while her knee careened into his gut. While Marcus was doubling over Vaedra leapt up and started to flee, but the other two men were upon her before she could even round the inn, each pinning an arm up against the building side wall.

Marcus stumbled over after a moment, "Bitch!" He spat, his hand coming up to strike the grappled woman.

"Hey, what's going on over there?" A 7th Legion sentry rounded the corner heading towards the four huddled figures.

The lackeys loosened their grip on Vaedra immediately upon seeing him, allowing her to shrug out of their grasp.

"You all right miss?" The soldier huffed up to the rogue.

She smiled sweetly at him, "Oh, everything's fine, Marcus and I were just playing a bit rough, weren't we Marcus?" She gripped his chin in what she hoped looked to be an endearing gesture, pressing into his wounded jaw.

He winced, but muttered, "Yes, no problem sir."

The guard looked skeptical. "You all wouldn't want me reporting this to the Captain, would ya?" His disdain for the money-grubbing mercenaries obvious.

"Of course not, sir, there's nothing to report though!" Vaedra stepped up to the soldier and discreetly slipped him some coin, which he readily accepted.

The woman seemed hardly hysterical and the coin she'd provided was ample, he decided to look the other way much to Vaedra's relief.

When the guard had left, Marcus eyed the woman suspiciously. "What was that all about, _Sylvia_?" Emphasizing the name.

She glared at the man, "It's not your concern, you best stay out of my way lest you find my axe in your back."

Marcus sneered, a cruel laugh escaping his lips. "Are you threatening me, girly? Me and my boys don't take likely to being threatened. And methinks you're much more than a common 'adventurer' as well..."

"Believe what you want," she hissed, retrieving her belongings, setting her helm into place. "Though I wouldn't be taking a piss alone if I were you." She hoped the crudeness of her words would lessen any doubts he might have about her cover. Stalking away she left them, calm enough for the moment, but she feared Marcus wouldn't abate so easily.

On the eleventh day, Vaedra returned to Wyrmbane's room, preparing and securing her hiding spot.

On the twelfth day, she continued her rounds about the Keep, making final preparations for her escape, continuing to chat up the guards and downtrodden their spirits. She felt Marcus' eyes on her more than once, taking in her actions, seeming to wait for any moment she slipped to be alone. She wished she could just kill the man and be rid of him, but there was no time left for that. Causing a panic when the guards found a mutilated body within their own walls would only serve to tighten security and possibly wreck everything she'd worked towards.

She didn't want to underestimate the man, for he could truly turn out to be a thorn in her side, but she prayed that he was one of the unlucky to fall whenever the Lich King decided to strike.

On the night of the thirteenth evening, Vaedra slipped quietly into the High Commander's room, and waited.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Vaedra waited in the dark. The hour grew late.

She had a fortnight, true, but the thirteenth evening would be her best opportunity, Wyrmbane often didn't return to his room til well after midnight and by the following night it could be too late.

It seemed hours that she lay there, waiting, afraid that he wouldn't come. Until finally she heard the rattle at the door and the jingle of key. The High Commander entered his room, everything appearing as it should have, though he had no knowledge of the rogue that had concealed herself beneath the floor boards of the wooden steps leading to his bed.

Peering through the cracks, Vaedra watched as the armored man trudged over to his desk, unceremoniously tossing some papers onto its surface. He sighed audibly, the slump of his shoulders evident, though if it was from merely exhaustion or a greater weariness she did not know. He removed his helm and stretched his limbs before plopping down into the large chair of his desk. His back was to her though only affording a view of his sandy brown hair tinted with gray.

The room was silent save the gentle rusting of papers as he half-heartedly perused the reports. Attacking him while he wore his full plate armor now would be foolhardy, she supposed it would just be best to be done with the foul business while he slept. A gentle rapping sounded at the door.

"Enter," he called crisply.

A petite woman saluted and timidly came a few steps into the room, "I have the report you requested, sir." She held out the parcel to him.

"Rachel," he smiled, holding his hand out to her. She gave him the documents which he promptly flung aside and took her own hand instead.

"Sir?" A blush painted her porcelain skin.

"You can call me Halford in here, dear." He chuckled.

The woman was actually rather lovely for a soldier, if a bit thin and underfed. Blonde hair was pulled back away from her face revealing large doe eyes and generous lips. She wore the 7th Legion standard issue plate and alliance tabard with a light mace secured at her hip.

Releasing her hand the High Commander sighed and looked down to his desk, "How fares your father?"

Rachel scowled, not really wanting to broach the subject, "Not well, sir. The physicians insist that he leave Northrend and return home to rest and get away from the cold, but he'll hear none of it, insisting he must continue on while there's still a war to be won."

Halford smiled weakly, "Yes, that sounds like him."

The woman hovered behind the desk looking antsy, as though she had something more to say, though Wyrmbane seemed to not take notice.

"I know they're important but these daily reports bore me to tears," he chuckled, stretching his arms over his head. A sharp pang coursed through his neck and he abruptly let out a grunt and brought his hand to it, rubbing the affected area.

"Are you all right, sir?" Rachel asked, wide-eyed.

"Oh yes, fine fine. Just got nicked earlier by one of those fiends clamoring in from the town, nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure, sir? Did you have one of the healers look at it?"

"Yes yes, of course," he waved his hand dismissively as though the wound had been nothing.

"I... I can take a look at it if you like," she offered, almost hopefully.

He chuckled, "Really, it's nothing. I've survived much worse."

She nodded, "Of course sir. I know that healing will mend the skin back together but can often leave the dull aches of pain behind... if you would permit sir, I might be able to help with that..."

"Truly? Well, if it gets this kink out of my neck, by all means." He sat back in his chair expectantly, lacing his fingers together across his abdomen.

Rachel blushed again, "It's not magic sir, more of a er... technique."

"Oh? What sort of technique?"

She wrung her hands together nervously, how did one broach the subject of giving your superior officer a massage?

"I um, use my hands, sir." She held them up, immediately feeling stupid.

Halford chuckled again, "Go ahead, then."

She made her way around the desk behind the High Commander, avoiding his eyes. Once she stood over him she stammered again, "Sir, it uh, works better when you're not wearing armor."

"Hah, of course." He rose and methodically began removing the heavy pieces of plate from his shoulders and chest, an amused twitch gracing his face, the woman obviously mortified with herself for having offered such a thing.

Vaedra sighed silently from her vantage point within the stairs, how long was this woman going to loiter around for? She seemed to fancy the High Commander, but was much too shy to try anything about it while he seemed content to watch her struggle. The rogue flexed her muscles to help prevent cramping, she might be here a while yet...

Once the armor had been removed, Halford retook his seat and the woman slowly placed her hands upon his shoulders, gently working the muscles in his neck and back. He murmured appreciatively under her expert fingers.

"That feels amazing, where did you learn to do such a thing?"

Rachel couldn't help but to grin with pride, pleased that she was doing well and had been bold enough to try this in the first place.

"My mother's housekeeper taught me, she is a very skilled healer, just not with magic. She uses herbs and salves in a way we've never seen before and showed me how human hands can sometimes be just as effective as spells at um, mending. Sir."

He nodded, sighing contentedly, enjoying the feel of her hands. It had been quite some time since he'd enjoyed a woman's company, but a pang of guilt struck him when he remembered who the girl was. The daughter of one of his dear friends, not a superior officer, but still a pronounced member of the 7th Legion. He certainly would not appreciate Halford mooning over his young, impressionable daughter...

A succinct knock came at the door suddenly, and before the High Commander could summon whomever it was or turn them away the door opened, admitting a soldier with his arms full of various scrolls. His head was down as he barged in and began talking hurriedly.

"Sir! I bring news from the front. Apparently the scourge have--"

Halford cleared his throat. The soldier looked up to see the High Commander seated in his chair free of his armor with a young woman standing behind him, her hands on his shoulders.

"It's late, soldier."

The man's eyes went wide. "Uhh, yes sir! Terribly sorry sir! I'll just ahh, be off now. My apologies again sir." Turning to depart the rich, commanding voice of his superior officer addressed him again.

"And soldier?"

The man looked over his shoulder, "Yes, sir?"

Halford sighed, looking more than irritated. "No point in knocking if you don't wait for a summons, now is there?"

"Of course sir, it won't happen again." The man fled from the room, shutting the door behind him.

Rachel looked exceedingly uncomfortable, "Maybe I should go, sir..." She began to step away from the High Commander.

"Nonsense! Don't let that rude interruption spoil our conversation, Rachel." He grabbed her hand, squeezing lightly.

She turned and looked down at him. "If you're sure, sir."

"Halford, dear!" He commanded playfully.

"Halford then," she tested out, her cheeks reddening.

Rolling his head from side to side carefully, he smiled up at her. "You seem to have done wonders with your hands."

Rachel's mouth went dry, she nodded emphatically in an attempt to fill the silence, her eyes cast on the wooden planks of the floor.

While her gaze was shifted downward he allowed his eyes to travel up her form, taking in her armor-clad body and secretly wondering what she looked like underneath. She was unaware of his scrutiny and when he reached her face he slapped himself mentally again, seeing the unmarred features indicating her youth.

_Lecherous old man... _he silently berated himself.

"Sir, I-I... Halford. I have a question if I may..."

"Of course, Rachel."

"I don't mean to be rude or blunt, I just... can't help but wonder. You're not a young man anymore, why have you not settled down and started a family?"

The High Commander exhaled slowly, his eyes closing. "You're right, I'm not a young man. But my duty to the 7th Legion will always come first, as long as there is need of us, we will be there. I wouldn't be able..."

"Many soldiers are able to balance their families and duties though, sir!" She interjected suddenly. "Surely you could find a way as well."

He shook his head sadly, "Should I truly find someone special to me, I fear I would not be able to devote myself to them as much as they would deserve. And my station is surely a dangerous one, if they cared about me as deeply as I hope they would, I would not want to subject to them to the pain of loss."

"But sir!" She pleaded, her doe eyes unimaginably wide and glistening. "Surely you deserve to be happy as everyone else does. I'm... I'm sure whoever you might find would be overjoyed to have the opportunity to spend whatever time with you that they could, although it might be short..." She looked away, biting her lip.

He smiled up at her, her idealistic notions warmed his heart, but her naivety again reminded him of her age.

"If only I could find someone so special," he gazed into her eyes.

Vaedra groaned inwardly at their flirtatious display. She certainly hoped she had never looked so foolish or fawning when she had been younger. The woman seemed truly enamored with the High Commander though it was more difficult to discern if he genuinely returned her feelings or was just looking to not sleep alone that night. She gritted her teeth and continued to watch.

Halford stood and cupped Rachel's face in his hand, looking down at her tenderly. Rachel's heart pounded in her chest, he looked like he wanted to kiss her which was what she was secretly hoping for.

Bracing herself she waited, eyes searching his. Instead of receiving the kiss she wanted, his hand fell away from her face, his eyes dejected.

"Sir?" She whimpered tremulously.

"I can't, Rachel."

"Can't what, sir?" Her lip quivering.

He raked his hands through his hair, "Your father... you're... he's my friend and you're his daughter, and I'm no young man myself..." he trailed off, unable to articulate what he wanted to convey.

"My father?" Confusion clouded her features. "Halford..." she felt odd using his name but loved saying it. "I love my father dearly and I understand that the two of you are friends but I don't want him to stand in the way of my happiness. I... I could die here. The undead seem to grow stronger every day. I don't want to fall regretting what could have been." If it was possible her brown eyes grew larger, taking in all of the man of her affection. Gathering her courage she placed a hand on his shoulder, stepping in close and craned her neck upward, inviting her mouth to be kissed.

Hesitation crossed Wyrmbane's features as he regarded the woman in his embrace. But it was soon overcome with something else when he could no longer resist the temptation that so readily presented itself. His mouth descended onto her, her hands coming up around his neck to draw him closer.

Rachel tingled all over as his lips caressed hers, slightly dazed that it was really happening. Murmuring against his mouth she sighed happily, eager to continue.

Lifting the woman as though she weighed nothing at all, Halford gracefully sat her down on his large desk so that he might better access her mouth and neck. Standing between her armored thighs he nuzzled into her throat, nipping gently. Rachel gasped excitedly, her gaze traveling to the bed in the corner of the room.

"Should we..." she stammered.

"No, right here." He murmured against her lips, his hands moving to undo the plated armor. "That is... if you're sure." He pulled back suddenly to inspect her face.

"Yes, absolutely."

He needed no further encouragement. Moving swiftly he began to unfasten all the buckles and clasps holding her armor in place, revealing the lithe body underneath piece by piece.

_Oh no... _Vaedra covered her face, not believing this was happening right in front of her.

Once the offensive metal had been pulled away Halford started on Rachel's clothes, her own hands shakily trying to rid him of his. She lifted her hips so that he may slide the breeches down her slender legs, his hands trailing the skin wherever cloth fell away. The woman sat naked upon the High Commander's desk, suddenly looking nervous and self-conscious.

He smiled reassuringly at her, tilting her chin to look up at him. "You're very beautiful, Rachel." His fingers trailed across her prominent collarbone and slid downward to cup her small breasts, his lips following suit.

Halford was breathing heavily and almost too far gone to care but he noticed her slightly rigid form. Reluctant, but wanting to be a gentleman, "Dear, I don't want you to do anything you're not ready for..."

She snapped back to life and out of her reverie suddenly. Giving him a sly smirk beneath lash covered eyes, "Oh, I'm definitely ready." Her hands reached for his pants. He helped her along, quickly pulling them off and nestling himself between her thighs.

Halford thanked the Light as he plunged into her warm, soft body that she wasn't a virgin, lest her father have both his heads...

While Halford was busy thanking the Light, Vaedra was cursing any deity that might be listening for subjecting her to the scene before her. She tried to look away but her choices were the the dark, musty ground beneath his floorboards or watching the High Commander's powerful back and legs flex as he thrust into the woman on the desk.

_So, I grant you lenience and allow you extra time to complete your task and this is how you spend it?_

Vaedra nearly thumped her skull into the wooden plank over her head she was so surprised to hear his voice after nearly two weeks of silence.

_Go away... _she seethed back, her annoyance glaringly obvious.

The voice laughed at her.

_I nearly have him, do you wish to distract me? _Vaedra snapped back, the lovers heavy breathing and gasps piercing the air.

_It would be difficult to imagine you not being distracted at this moment... _he cackled again, the echo slowly trailed off.

Vaedra tried to collect herself, ignoring the sounds being made just a few feet away from her position. She had a decision to make, she could either wait and see if the girl would leave and have her be implicated in the High Commander's murder, or kill them both outright. Remembering the hasty soldier's intrusion from earlier she knew it was very likely that the girl could be accused of treason and murder for she would be the last one seen with Wyrmbane, in which case her fate of execution would already be sealed. Or if the 7th Legion didn't get to her first then the undead certainly would... Letting her live made much more sense from the perspective of protecting Vaedra's cover, but she had reservations; perhaps it would be more merciful to just kill her now and spare her that wretched death...

Rachel murmured, slowly laying back against the desk, her legs wrapped around Halford's hips snugly, her eyes closed in ecstasy. She couldn't believe this was actually happening, so many nights she had dreamt of it, trying to imagine a perfect scenario where they would come together, but none of it compared to the feel of him now, gently rocking his pelvis into hers. She moaned, utterly delighted, as did he, when Halford grunted suddenly and she felt warm, wet droplets suddenly sprinkle across her belly.

Confused that her lover's movement had stopped and by the warmth she felt on her abdomen, she opened her eyes.

Red speckling littered her stomach and breasts, looking up, all she saw was Halford, blood dribbling from his lips, and a blade piercing him clean through, the tip poking out of his chest and crimson running down from the wound.

Pushing herself up with her arms, her mouth open to cry out, the blade swiftly moved forward, cleanly through the High Commander and into her.

Rachel's lips opened and closed several times, her mind reeled, everything seemed fuzzy. Halford's stare seemed dull and disoriented.

They lay as such for many moments, neither victim able to see their assailant, bodies suspended together with a single sword, their lifeblood slowly seeping out to wash the other's skin. Rachel felt herself growing weak and cold, she slowly fell back against the desk, Halford's muscled body followed, collapsing onto hers, their hips still joined from their lovemaking.

Vaedra withdrew her sword carefully, her arm was trembling. She looked down at the two intertwined lovers, their blood mingling together as had their bodily juices only a few moments before. They probably weren't even dead yet, their organs drowning slowly from the single stab wound.

Finally afforded a view of the High Commander's face, she found that he was younger than she had expected, just beginning to climb the summit of the hill to middle age. Lines of hardness ran through his features though, indicating his experience and the many battles he had fought and won. There would be no winning the battle soon to come however...

Nausea seized the rogue suddenly, she ran to the corner of the room and retched, her stomach heaving, her limbs shaking profusely. The gory sight was nothing new to her, unless it stirred in her something else...

Something in Vaedra snapped; pure, unadulterated terror gripped her heart then, her palms began to sweat, her eyes widened in panic. What had she done? What had she become? She was dooming her entire race, all of Azeroth perhaps, and for what?! To save her own skin? What darkness had perverted her soul so severely that she had such callous disregard for anything and everyone but herself... She might save herself from the Lich King's wrath by doing his bidding, but what good was it to live if she had no one to share it with but the mindless undead that had seized control of all that was living...

Looking at the motionless figures on the desk she cowered away from them, shrinking into the corner, irrationally afraid that they would arise at any moment, their limbs twisting horribly into horrendous zombies to seek retribution on her from the grave...

She had to get out of there! Gathering her belongings she fled from the room, having the rationale to at least stick to the shadows and avoid capture, but apparently not enough to have left the scene of her crime in such a state of disarray. Normally her kills were immaculate, the High Commander's room though showed signs of her tampering with the floorboards, vomit in the corner, footprints in the blood that had oozed onto the floor...

Disappearing into the darkness, tears streamed down her face, knowing it was already too late to save Wintergarde Keep. Events had already been set in motion.

-

A complete slaughter.

The morning following the ruthless murder of High Commander Halford Wyrmbane the soldiers faces were all grim, cries of anguish and outrage emanated from all corners of the Keep. The men's spirits were low, their hearts aching... as the Lich King had hoped they would be when the sky went dark...

The first shouts came, warning cries of impending undead, nothing unusually alarming. Then the cries intensified, coupled with screams of horror.

Frost wyrms from all over the Dragonblight converged, the icy breath that seemed to fuel them, blue essence that burned in their skeletal bellies, pouring over buildings and freezing villagers and soldiers alike desperate to get out of its path. 7th Legion Sentinels manned their posts on the walls valiantly, bowstrings humming in the frigid wind, only to be plucked from their stone towers and carried unimaginably high by gargoyles and suddenly... dropped. The gruesome process repeated over and over again...

The dreaded sorcerer lich Kel'thuzad himself emerged once the chaos was in full swing, opening a portal directly at the front gates, monstrous abominations pouring out wrecking destruction in their path; throwing wagons with careless abandon, grabbing people to use as blunt instruments...

Soldiers scrambled about, some fighting their way towards the gryphons to mount an air strike or simply to flee, others trying to gather some semblance of order amongst the 7th Legion. The ordinarily elite, disciplined soldiers tried to get to their posts, desperately listening for the bark of orders that never came, each with a different idea of what they should do. With no definitive leadership there to rally them, they never had a chance.

The high elven battle-mages with the Silver Covenant that had allied with the Legion concentrated their efforts, swirling balls of magic and fire pummeled into one frost wyrm after another, their bony frames careening down into the keep in an explosion of frost and pain. But their efforts were not enough.

Kel'thuzad's raspy laughter rang out over the clamor, "Pitiful wretches! Insects! You march to the Lich King's very doorstep and think you can rest here unmolested? Northrend it _his _domain! And there is no place in it for swill such as yourselves!"

Screams of torment met Vaedra's ears on her quiet spot on the cliff side as the tenacious Keep and its watchers were brutally slaughtered. Her face was impassive, but her heart was heavy. Determined to believe that these new feelings were an awakening of sorts as opposed to a breakdown, she mounted her drake to return to Icecrown and her master, and to face her fate.

* * *

_Author's Note: A quick update to finish up the mission started last chapter! Thank you everyone for the continued positive reviews, I swear they make me grin like an idiot everytime I get a new one, I get so excited to read them I can't click fast enough, heheh... that's motivation enough right there, right? Right?! Anyway, I know the latter part of this chapter turned rather dark but I must say, my god was the first half fun to write. I must not possess a romantic bone in my body because making Vaedra suffer through their lovey-dovey babble was such exquisite torture, bwa haha..._


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

He could feel that change in her almost immediately, the erratic thought patterns, the unstable twitch that seemed to have seized her mind long before she appeared. He had been extremely satisfied with her success at Wintergarde keep, but he was more interested to see exactly what she would do once she returned...

Vaedra strode into the vast, hollow chamber, her face serene; body hovering in the doorway. The Lich King stood next to his throne, slowly lifting his helm away and resting it on the arm of his chair. He looked pleased. She knew he was.

Despite the calm visage, he could feel the inner turmoil that raged inside her head: voices screaming, swords slashing, blood being spilled. Never had he felt her so disturbed, yet... so focused. She channeled all the hate and fear into a narrow tunnel within her psyche, almost how she treated her assignments but ten-fold. And right now that deadly focus seemed to be fixated.... on him. He could see that her amber eyes were rimmed with red, smudges splashed across her face. They regarded one another for a long moment.

Finally, the corner of his mouth upturned ever so slightly, "Well done."

She continued to stare.

"Our victory over the 7th Legion was complete."

Vaedra's hands moved to her swords, drawing them out painstakingly slow. Frostmourne was already at the Lich King's side.

"I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear that Naxxaramas is secure for the time being, Kel'thuzad was overjoyed at the aid you provided so readily..."

Vaedra's body sprang into motion, swords drawn her legs beginning to carry her towards the throne, her death.

He sensed the movement before a muscle even twitched, and he was ready for it. Raising his left hand outstretched towards the rogue, a snake-like chain made of crackling black energy snapped outward, seizing her around the middle. Yanking her towards him with but a minor flick of his wrist she was dragged forward, her balance shaken and equilibrium lost. Once she was close her swords both came crashing down from overhead, clumsily aiming for his skull. Frostmourne rose and easily blocked both blades, the screeching sound of metal deafening, black sparks sizzled where their weapons met.

Suspended over him in the magical chain, Vaedra's face turned hateful, her lips sneering. He cocked his head to the side slightly, and she felt her throat suddenly constrict, an invisible hand closing her airways. Sputtering a few moments, she dropped her swords; they clattered to the floor uselessly, her hands came up to fruitlessly pry at her neck. Tossing Frostmourne to the ground beside the rogue's fallen blades he grabbed her arms before she damaged herself and released her from the spell.

Once she felt the hand dissipate and her lungs were free to breathe, her eyes gleamed insanely and she shrieked like a banshee. She thrashed wildly in his grasp, her legs kicking against his armored body to no avail, her anger making her stronger.

"Kill me!" She snarled in his face, all she could see was red. "You useless coward, you vile murderer, kill me!" His grip held her fast as she tried to wriggle free and claw at his eyes.

"Coward?" He spat back, his eyes flashing angrily. "You are the coward! Incapable of ending your own life yourself, so instead you come here to have me do it for you! You seek to incite my anger so I'll just carelessly let my sword slip," he laughed darkly. "I think not."

"I'll have nothing more to do with you!" She threw back. "You can win your war without me. If you let me live now I'll just go sit in my cell until you can tolerate my presence no longer and let me die. Torture me if you like, I don't care!" She continued to kick and struggle though she knew it was pointless.

"Suddenly develop a conscience, did we?" He smirked cruelly. "Or did the sight of those two pitiful lovers dying in each others arms remind you of that void that exists so profoundly in your own pathetic, lonely life?"

"This is no life," she snarled back. "If you annihilate everything living on Azeroth, what then? Once everything is gone, what next? You'll kill me then, or turn me into a mindless servant, or use your damned sword to suck out my soul. Nothing but betrayal awaits me if I continue to help you!"

"Do you suddenly feel obligated to these weak human creatures? Because you are one of them? Is that really reason enough to spare their lives?" The Lich King hissed, she didn't realize how close to the truth her words really were.

"Humanity has made me what I am!" She argued heatedly.

"So humanity has made you a scoundrel? A unloved, dirty member of society who performs the unsavory deeds under the cover of darkness that no one else wishes to? Those were akin to your own words are they not... you owe them nothing!"

"It does not matter what they have or have not done for me, I am one of them..."

"Liar!" He yelled back, the chamber rumbling in response. "Have you forgotten that I can see what lies true in you heart? You feel no obligation to them. Trying to pass off that because you share a common lineage your cold, uncaring nature believes that you must fight for them is foolishness! You're spouting nonsense, a false ingrained belief that you must serve your own kind, that your blood binds you together somehow. My dear, you abandoned that road long ago, I know it. I can see it..."

"Why do you even care? Extraordinary heroes lie everywhere! Mortal potential is vast, find yourself a new pet, someone more obedient perhaps, someone more to your liking..." she shouted back, his metal gloves digging into her leather-clad forearms; she relished the pain, feeding off of it to fuel her ire.

Regarding the rogue, his countenance softened. "How rare is a remarkable mortal do you imagine? One out of every ten thousand? One hundred thousand? One million? In my time I have encountered a scarce few. You think every 'hero' that runs around waving a sword is truly something special? There must be a... spark of some kind, something defining that sets them apart. You Vaedra, are one such being..."

She laughed haughtily, the heat in her face lessening. Her words were replaced with sarcasm in response to his own infuriatingly calm demeanor and with her inability to inflict any real bodily harm upon him. "You seemed to be faring just fine before I came along. You wish me to believe that I'm so special that you'd place me amongst the ranks of Arthas? Kel'thuzad?"

"Kel'thuzad?" The Lich King scoffed. "He was a zealot, he gave me his soul and swore his fealty with hardly any prodding from me at all. He is nothing but a wretched servant, useful yes, but hardly an extraordinary man in life. And Arthas well..." he licked his lips. "He was certainly a fitting puppet."

Vaedra snorted condescendingly, "I don't believe that for a moment! Arthas was brilliant; charismatic and powerful. His royal ties I'm sure were just an added incentive but--"

"Enough!" He seethed, fingers tightening further. "This is about you." His face drew very close, teeth gritted behind curled lips.

The rogue began to squirm again in his grasp, the predatory gleam in his eyes was not the look of impending death that she desired. Her nose breathed in the frosty air tainted with the stench of decay from his presence, her stomach churning in response, reminding her of that which he represented: the path of evil and destruction she never thought herself capable of.

"A few moments ago you said that nothing but betrayal awaited you if you were to continue serving me... that is the real motivation and truth behind your hasty change of heart, isn't it?"

Vaedra's mouth opened to interject, but he shook her violently in response.

"Silence! I know you will maintain your justification that you must protect humanity, it would appear a valid reason to anyone else. But to me..." He grinned wickedly. "I know the truth."

The rogue said nothing, her resolve faltering.

"So, what is it you want? What do you desire most? What could I possibly offer to you to change your mind, a rogue! The self-serving, the opportunist... what... do you... want?"

Her eyes turned downward, refusing to meet his.

The Lich King looked at her hard, as though he was deeply considering. Cold fingers feeling around in her consciousness... "Wealth?" He grimaced, immediately dismissing the notion. "I think not, you could have any shiny trinkets that you wished, retired long ago from this adventuring business off the many treasures that fell into your hands. No, not that."

He drew her slightly closer, "Companionship? Perhaps... you have isolated yourself, choosing to align yourself with factions that suit your needs now, but refrain from being close to anyone. You have loved once, is that what you desire to feel again? You do not wish to lose the last chance you might ever have? But whom... Arthas certainly attracted you, you could not resist the lull of his power." He paused. "Ahh yes... so maybe this ties in more closely with that which you _truly _want..."

Vaedra clenched her teeth, wanted to close her ears and not listen to his venomous words. She mustn't deviate from her ideals, he was trying to trick her! He was trying to strike a nerve and find a weakness to exploit, she must remain strong...

"Power..." he whispered, face but an inch from her own. "Yesss..." he hissed. "Doesn't everyone wish for it in some form or another? You must be in control! You must be stronger! Yes, even now you must prove to yourself that you're more willful than I, that you must prove that you can withstand my assault. Power is what you wish for..." Vaedra shook her head defiantly, amber eyes clenched shut. "... so power you shall have."

Something she did not expect happened next, amidst her private suffering, her precarious thoughts teetering dangerously close to the brink, clarity entered her mind, and The Lich King's mouth met her own.

Her breath was stolen away, her eyes flew open, surprised to see that his lay mostly closed, only scant wispy blue tendrils seeped out from beneath the hooded lids.

There was no passion present in the kiss, his hands wrenching into her arms brutally, his lips barely moved against hers, it was though he was merely exhaling into her, but it wasn't the feel of his cold flesh against her own that had stolen her breath away...

A raw surge of energy sparked to life within him, he nurtured it slowly as it grew and developed, and he breathed it oh so gently into Vaedra's parted lips.

She gasped audibly as the energy coursed through her body, alighting every nerve with tingling power, radiating outward from her very core. She felt the strength, the potential, some of his own manifested vitality mingling with hers. Her mind screamed no at her, it was a villainous scheme to overwhelm her senses, but it was overshadowed by the pleasurable shudders that emanated throughout her being, as though she was basking in the afterglow of good sex. If asked to recount later what it felt like at that moment to be immortal, unstoppable, all-powerful... it would be indescribable... but ultimately, addictive. Had he given her a tiny piece of himself to tempt her into embracing his evil? Vaedra did not know.

Finally, after an eternity, he pulled back and she had to consciously stop herself from leaning in after him, to follow his lips away.

"That was just a taste..." he smirked, smoky blue eyes swirling mischievously. "How could you possibly give up the chance to delve into power so vast? Does 'being human' sound like such a viable defense now?"

Vaedra quivered, her breathing labored.

"I..."

_No, this is wrong! You must fight it! He is just manipulating you again, trying to keep you unfocused so you can continue to do his bidding. He will betray you, he makes false promises, why would he share his power?!_

The voice sounded so small...

"...I..."

_Embrace it! Feel it! That was but an ounce of the energy that could be yours. If I wanted a new mortal I would just take one and would have been through with you long ago. But I have not... You have untapped potential that only I can unlock, that we can explore... together._

The voice sounded so enticing...

Her eyes slid shut.

"I want more..."

He smirked at her candid response, her knees were practically buckling with need. He pulled her closer.

"But!" She jerked away suddenly, alert, regarding him suspiciously. "I... I think I need some kind of security. This doesn't change that you could simply be rid of me once you've gotten everything you want."

He arched one white brow, "What are you suggesting?"

Vaedra thought a moment, then had an idea. "Give me the orb."

The Lich King tilted his head to the side, jaw clenching. Interesting...

"Now why should I do that?"

"As a sign of good faith," she ventured, not sure if he was even really considering it. "It's what you're holding over me, what's keeping me here... but if we remove that variable, then you can see that I will..." she paused, trying not to dwell too deeply on what she was saying, "... I will stay willingly."

He looked at her intently, scouring her mind for truth.

"Then... if you decide to not fulfill your end of our arrangement, I will at least be free from that potential treachery. You can see yourself that I'm speaking honestly."

He smiled wickedly, "Oh yes, you believe that I take your words for their face value? Amusing. Certainly at this _moment _you might intend to stay, but there is no guarantee that at a later time you might change your mind, as you seem so inclined to do..."

She had no response to this.

"... and I'm not so certain that I would even need to make this trade to ensure that you stay, I nearly had you begging for me to continue just a few minutes ago, so enthralled you were by this prospective gain. You thirst for more as though you've been waiting your entire life to take a drink! I nearly need to dangle it tantalizingly close over your head and I suspect you will follow." He chuckled darkly, finally releasing her from his hold with a light shove.

The rogue stumbled back a step and tilted her chin upward defiantly, her eyes narrowed. "I will resist."

Smirking, he looked down at her childish disobedience. "I don't think you can."

Deadly calm, "I can."

It was no bluff.

"Give me the orb," she spoke again, coolly. "And I will stay."

"Ahh, so the cold mask returns. Or is the fiery exterior the mask? It is difficult to tell... I suppose you've been fooling yourself even for so long that you can't even tell the difference." He laughed again, cruelly, but her stare did not waver.

"As for your... proposal, I will consider it. For now, you can go." He waved her away, and turned his back.

His reverberating footfalls the only sound to be heard, Vaedra knelt to retrieve her swords, speaking softly. "Don't take too long," she slowly slid the blades into their sheaths, "...Master."

-

The rogue sat quietly in the frigid dark, alone with her thoughts. The scene with Wyrmbane and Rachel replayed in her head again and again, the two lovers entwined intimately one moment and bathing each others bodies in blood the next. Was she really ready to turn her back on humanity so callously, and by choice no less? His words had rung resoundingly true, she truly did not feel as though she owed them anything. There had been a select few she had dare bare herself to in the past: Tayvan, Mathias and only a handful of others, but besides them... what did she really care?

Trying to push his poisonous words from her thoughts, Vaedra attempted to focus on what lie true in her heart. The disgust she'd felt was real, that much she knew, but from what did it come? Was it at herself, the actions she'd been taking? Or perhaps she so desperately wanted to believe that what she was doing was evil and was looking for some way to show herself thus, it manifested physically, but underneath she was actually apathetic to it all? Her mind was torn, weighing the validity of each side, unable to draw a concrete answer. But despite all of that, there was still another very large variable to consider...

What he'd shown her, what she had felt... was amazing. She knew he more than likely had done whatever he could to make it tempting, but regardless, that type of promise was not something she could easily dismiss. Even now she could feel her body aching, yearning for more, desperate for just another small touch... What mortal could resist the potential for eternal life? Could even the truly benevolent and good have turned away from such power when it was presented so readily? Again though, even if he made good on his word and she were to live forever, with whom would she share it with once the dust had settled... For being such a solitary creature, the notion of wandering the world alone scared her severely. If she had no purpose, no missions, no companion, than the gift would surely be meaningless.

_He didn't kill me, I attacked him outright, disobeyed his direct wishes, and still he did not..._

Was she that valuable? Was she that instrumental in his success? Perhaps, but it would seem like it should not be so difficult for him to find another if he truly wished it, unless there was another reason...

Vaedra quickly quashed that train of thought before she made a fool of herself, not daring to let her mind wander in that direction. She could not suppress the notion, however, that there probably was another way in which he could have displayed the energy she would be capable of wielding... did the bastard just wish her to associate the exhilarating memory with his own touch? Her fingers came up, almost involuntarily, to brush against her lips before she hastily pulled them away.

The scraping of metal footsteps roused her from her thoughts, announcing him as effectively as if he had stepped into her mind that instant.

She remained quiet as he approached, trying to look bored. If he hadn't come to bring her the orb she supposed they had nothing to discuss...

"That girl..." he began, throwing her off guard. "That girl in the keep."

Vaedra raised a brow at him.

The Lich King tilted his head at her, considering, "...you showed her mercy."

Slightly confused by him suddenly broaching this subject, "I did kill her..." the rogue reminded him.

"Yes," he commented, moving slowly to stand in front of her, black cape fluttering lightly behind him. "But you did it to spare her a worse fate. You could have used her to keep the suspicion of murder upon her."

Vaedra shrugged, "I did not think it would matter, your brazen attack on Wintergarde Keep prevented the 7th Legion from even organizing a sound defense, I hardly think they would have had time to conduct a proper investigation..."

"No mercy..." he hissed at her, hands clenched at his sides.

"She likely would have been killed in the attack anyway..."

"No mercy!" He growled out, bringing his gauntlet up to his neck. "There can be none, no mistakes, if you are to stay, and I'm to give you this."

Pulling a leather cord from around his neck he revealed a small cloth bag tied to the end from within his armor. Dangling it out in front of him, Vaedra reached up to take it when he lifted it away at the last moment.

"You realize the extreme risk and pains I am taking in giving this to you..."

The rogue said nothing as he looked down at her expectantly. Finally, she scoffed, "What, were you expecting appreciation? Thank you Master for putting such faith in me? This isn't about trust, this is a business arrangement between you and I, nothing more."

He smirked, glowing eyes looked at her knowingly, "Of course it is."

She sighed, holding out her palm. "Either hand it over or spare me the games and let me sit here to rot."

The small bag waved back and forth in front of her face like a pendulum, taunting her. "Surely you can understand my hesitation at letting my pet off her leash..." he chuckled evilly.

"Oh yes, and it pleases me to no end knowing that you kept a part of me so very close to your heart..." she drawled, her words stinging like acid.

He sneered, "Fitting that you should use those words..." and with that he dropped the bag into her waiting, outstretched hand. Her eyes widened in panic momentarily before she masked it and deftly caught the precious parcel.

Peering inside she carefully let the violet orb roll out into her hand, twinkling as it had when he'd first created it. It was cool to the touch as she looked at it intently, staring into the swirling, cloudy center as though it would show her something hidden about herself, her finger slowly caressing the top as to elicit a response.

Looking up at him, "So how does it work?"

His face unreadable, "Work? It does not work for you, it only answers to my call. But it is in your possession now so you best keep it safe. I wouldn't want to imagine the outcome should it break... it is very delicate you know." Smirking he turned to leave.

"What is it exactly?" Vaedra dared to ask suddenly, holding the object close.

Turning to glare at her angrily, "I don't believe that divulging details of the item's creation or use was part of our 'business arrangement'. Will it make you sleep better now, knowing that even though you're still turning your back on your kin you at least can control your own fate? I _do _hope so..." he stalked away, leaving Vaedra even more perplexed then ever. Was that hurt that she had detected? Surely not.

Gingerly placing the orb back within the cloth pouch, she drew the leather cord over her own neck and held it close.

-

Later, the Lich King sat, leaning heavily upon one arm of his throne, a glassy violet orb rolling delicately between his unarmored fingers.

Surely she was not so simple-minded or trusting to believe that he would merely hand over the item in a bout of good faith? It was unlikely... but she had seemed satisfied when he had handed the orb's likeness over, there had been no suspicion of wrongdoing... though maybe her lack of suspicion was more telling.

If she'd truly believed he was going to give it to her, her roguish nature would have demanded her to be wary, so perhaps she had known all along that he intended on handing over a fake? He supposed it was possible, but why then would she have seemed satisfied upon receiving it... She gained nothing by having it, no leverage, or did it just make her feel safer?

It didn't make any sense, and though he had keenly sensed the change that had come over her and the indecisiveness that plagued her mind, he did not believe her actions were driven by insanity.

He held the glowing object cautiously between his thumb and forefinger, careful not to let any stray thoughts or energy seep in lest he give the secret away immediately. Was he maybe over thinking her deceptiveness? Perhaps, but he firmly attested that his paranoia was far less costly than underestimating her guile...


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Amidst the night sky, rays of moonlight poured down across the grassy fields of Elwynn Forest, the only additional lights came from the music and laughter-filled inn of Goldshire, denizens of the small town and Stormwind alike gathered in merriment to celebrate nothing special in particular.

A young woman with dark hair and rosy lips wearing a soft cotton blue dress sat in the corner looking decidedly uncomfortable, glancing at the clock occasionally. She politely declined the many invitations to dance from the young men in attendance, preferring to watch the townsfolk from a distance and keep to herself.

As the time neared midnight she quietly slipped away into the back room kitchen, only to be noticed by one other figure in the room.

Silently descending the stairs that led into the cellar, Vaedra peered into the darkness, trying to distinguish shapes between the barrels and crates present in the store room. Coming to a halt at the bottom, she squinted as her eyes adjusted, her ears open for any potential danger.

Without warning a strong arm encircled her waist, pressing her back against a warm body; she might have cried out if a large hand hadn't covered her mouth at the same instant. A familiar earthy scent met her nose.

Her heart pounding, she turned abruptly in the night elf's grasp and lightly planted a kiss on his lips.

"Tayvan!" She reprimanded playfully, swatting his arm. "Are you trying to scare me to death?"

He smiled charmingly, his glowing white eyes twinkled with amusement. "Just wanted to see if I could sneak up on you... looks like it worked," he chuckled as she slipped out of his grasp and stuck her tongue out at him.

"Why did we have to come to this insipid party again? And why did I have to wear a dress? I look ridiculous," Vaedra tugged uncomfortably at the hem, smoothing out wrinkles.

The night elf kept smiling at her, "Oh, but you look ravishing in it!" He pulled her into his embrace for another kiss, his hands traveling downward to grab her behind.

She squealed against his mouth at his boldness. "What are you doing?" She giggled, trying to pull away half-heartedly. "Someone could find us down here."

"Nonsense," he admonished, setting his stance to tackle her if she moved to run. "They're all too busy having fun and getting drunk upstairs. We'll have complete privacy."

Vaedra's eyes widened, "Ohh, I see, you wanted a secret rendezvous in a musty cellar during a party so you could get lucky, makes perfect sense." After a moment she suddenly darted for the stairs.

Lunging after her, his long arms easily plucking her off the ground and covering her mouth to suppress her giggling; he placed her atop a nearby crate. Silencing her laughter with a deep kiss he gently pushed her thighs apart and stood between them, nestling in close against her.

"Well," he murmured against her lips, "if you were successful in sneaking down here without anyone noticing, I thought you would deserve a reward..."

"Ahh, is that so?" She smiled against him, her hands coming around his neck to run through his silvery white hair. "So just a another test, that's all?"

"Okay, maybe not _just _a test," he chuckled, his hands running up her legs, pushing the fabric of the dress along with it as they rose higher. "Nothing wrong with a little danger..."

She rolled her eyes, "Surely there's enough danger in my life as it is without me having to sneak down into an inn's cellar on a busy evening so my night elf stalker can have his way with me..."

"Stalker?" He feigned a look of hurt. "You wound me! Just because you're the only woman in my life, because I watch out for your well-being, have a secret collection of things you've touched...."

Vaedra covered her mouth to muffle her outburst of laughter.

Tayvan grinned mischievously at her display before turning serious, "You are all mine, aren't you?"

"Of course!" She sighed heavily, kissing him fervently. His fingers continued to creep upwards along her inner thigh, eliciting soft gasps.

He groaned against her mouth once he realized she wasn't wearing undergarments, "Ooo, how naughty..."

"What?" She tried to look innocent. "I had to find some way to be comfortable in this damn dress."

"Undoubtedly," he agreed, moving to undo his pants.

"Tayvan!" She whispered harshly, sure she was blushing. "I'll never be able to come through Goldshire again if we're caught!"

"I won't let that happen," he promised, pants falling to the floor.

She squirmed nervously against him as he swiftly bunched the fabric of her dress up around her hips, but the debate quickly ended as he pushed himself inside of her.

Clinging to him desperately, Vaedra relished the feel of him: the safety of his arms, the warmth of his embrace... he was her friend, protector, lover, everything she ever needed. A tingle traveled down her spine as he lovingly nipped at her ear, her breath came hurriedly.

He murmured Darnassian words she didn't understand in her ear, but it didn't matter, they sounded so fluid and musical rolling off his tongue...

"Vaedra," he groaned, "tell me you're all mine."

"Of course I am," she gasped back, kissing him openly.

He pulled away, "Vaedra! I..."

Tayvan stopped suddenly, an odd look on his face. He coughed, red droplets flew from his mouth to stain the front of her blue dress. He looked down at his chest, the front of his shirt darkened into a deep crimson...

"No!" Vaedra cried, pulling his shirt open. There was no wound.

The night elf was dying, his clothing becoming more and more soaked in his own blood.

Pleading franticly, "No, not again! Why can't you leave me alone? Stop it!"

"Get out of my head!"

Vaedra awoke, trembling with rage. She glared into the darkness, fists clenching, sweat pouring off of her.

_Son of a bitch! Where are you?! _

No reply came.

He was still screwing with her dreams, even after the previous evening's events. Even though she now possessed the orb he was still able to penetrate her mind and poke around in her thoughts? She seethed with anger, calling out again.

_Where are you, damn it!_

Again no reply. She howled with frustration, her fists slamming into the stone wall. Was he ignoring her on purpose? Or maybe this had been a figment of her own tormented mind.... No, it was too similar to recent events. He took a happy memory and twisted it into something horrible, would he not be satisfied until she was but a hollow shell of her former self?

_Answer me!_

After a brief moment, _I have no time for you... _came the annoyed response.

_Where are you? _She demanded again.

_I was going to send for you later, I thought patience was an admirable quality amongst rogues..._

_Don't play games with me, I need to talk to you, now! _

_Then speak._

Vaedra sighed, irritated with the mental conversation. _No, in person._

_Very well, though you best adjust your loathsome demeanor before you arrive, I'm not feeling particularly forgiving..._

The rogue said nothing, instead she conjured up a thought of what she hoped would be a feeling of utter disdain and disgust...

Dressing quickly she stalked hurriedly down the corridors through Icecrown Citadel. As before when he had summoned her to the portal room she walked without really knowing where she was going, quiet words whispered in her ear, and once she arrived she had no recollection of the path she'd taken...

Coming to a room that appeared to be an alchemy lab of sorts she quickly took in her surroundings. Bubbling cauldrons filled with noxious fluids simmered on tables, jars of all sorts of vile ingredients lined the shelves, bits and pieces of mutilated corpses lay on examination tables; all of it attended by free-willed undead furiously scribbling notes as they worked. It was a grisly site to be sure, but Vaedra ignored it and strode directly up to the Lich King and faced him square on.

"Stay out of my head! Out of my dreams." She demanded angrily, indignation apparent on her face.

He regarded her curiously for a moment. "Why whatever do you mean?" Lip upturned slightly...

"You think me a fool? I know what you've been doing, trying to wear me down, break my spirit..."

He chuckled. "Now why would I want to do that? I have plenty of spiritless undead as it is. Though I may be partially to blame, I'm sure the stressful tasks I send you on certainly don't help with nightmares..."

Vaedra ignored his sarcasm, her brow furrowed as she glared up at him. "The orb is mine now, I'm no longer your slave. You can't toy with me, have me perform meaningless, gruesome tasks to satisfy your own twisted pleasures. You _will _stop trying to manipulate my thoughts! I won't stand for it!"

"Boldly stated," the Lich King sneered. "Tell me, what exactly did you think would change? Did you think that this 'arrangement' would grant you special treatment? You are still mine to control, an instrument to success... anything less and I'd gladly revoke my previous promise. I don't think I need to remind you of what exactly you'd be giving up..." He laughed. "Or maybe you want me to."

"My resolve did not falter overnight. You saw yourself that I can resist it if I wish. The leverage here is mine! Either you treat me with a shred of dignity or I'll--"

He cut her off by abruptly seizing the nape of her neck and bending her over one of the nearby searing cauldrons. The putrid substance's smell wafting upwards made the rogue gag, her face glistened with sweat almost instantly from the stifling heat.

"I do not appreciate ultimatums," he hissed, "perhaps you'd be thinking more clearly if I were to--"

Vaedra snickered, the sudden sharp noise thoroughly interrupting him. "Your threats are laughable! I am not blind, I have given you more than ample reason to be rid of me, I attacked you within the walls of your own citadel! And still you have not. Do you think I haven't seen that you are keeping me for some other purpose? It seems I have even more leverage than I previously thought, I wonder how far I could actually go before I might see some of your _true _wrath..." she raved, chuckling.

Slowly, he lifted her away from the cauldron, turning the rogue to face him.

"Indeed..." and he smiled. Not the usual sardonic smirk, but a real smile, and it chilled her to the bone.

They looked at one another for a long moment, challenging yet somehow thoughtful; Vaedra's anger long since melted away. She wanted to hold him such contempt, she wanted it very much... but despite all the pains and frustrations he'd caused her she found herself unable to, was she so starved for closeness with another that she had resigned herself to tolerate, perhaps even more than tolerate, the company of this non-man? This being comprised of malevolent intent, virulent energy and utter wickedness... he had used her need for self-preservation against her initially, but now that her destiny was her own she had chosen to stay? She couldn't allow herself to drift into oblivion, meld into the very shadows that concealed her form, oh but the cost...

Feeling a great weight upon her shoulders, Vaedra was the first to break their stare, turning away and folding her arms across her chest. Had she been able to see the Lich King she would have seen the triumphant grin that graced his face...

"What was your take on our assault on Wintergarde Keep?"

Our_ assault? Your take?_ Was he asking her opinion?

Thinking back, she was hard-pressed to believe that it had only been the day before that the attack had transpired, so weary was her body and mind. Bile rose in her throat from the memory, the feelings of helplessness and despair that had gripped her so suddenly... Swallowing hard, the rogue turned partially to face him, trying to appear unbothered.

"Brutal, decisive, destructive... I'd say you got the job done," she raised a brow.

"Indeed..." he seemed pleased. "And what if any retaliation do you think we should expect?"

_Again with the 'we'..._

Vaedra thought a moment, "From the 7th Legion? Little to none I'd expect, though I suspect the Argent Crusade may redouble their efforts and retaliate in their stead..."

"Yes." He agreed, nodding slightly. "That old paladin has been an annoyance for far too long..."

"Fordring?" The rogue tried not to gape. Surely he did not intend...

"I'm not sending you after him, don't be foolish," the Lich King reproached. "Instead..." he peered at her intently from beneath his black helm. "...we will give them something else to focus their attentions on."

She couldn't doubt that she was intrigued, "Such as?"

His lips curled into a smirk, delighted with her curiosity and interest. "Tell me, who else did you speak of the heart to?"

Taken aback by the question, Vaedra thought, remembering her unusual encounter with the strange object and the ghostly spirit boy that seemed to watch over it far below Icecrown Citadel. Her hand had burned when she had touched the mysterious frozen mass, the boy's words chilling...

_You shouldn't have touched it. But now that you did, he's going to come looking for you. And he'll find you. Unless you hide yourself from him._

"No one," she replied. "I doubted that anyone would believe me."

"Good..." he murmured, half to himself. "Tirion Fordring will not be able to pass up having the chance to 'redeem' poor, misguided Arthas..."

Vaedra tried to puzzle out what he was thinking, "You intend to tell the Argent Crusade about the heart?"

The Lich King laughed. "No, I intend to tell them that I mean to destroy it."

The rogue's eyes widened. "What, why?"

He sighed audibly, perturbed by her questions and lack of foresight. "If they were to learn of this information, hearing of a potential weakness and a route for redemption for their once young Prince, Fordring will no doubt have them scrambling about in preparation to make sure they can intervene in its destruction. Those paladin's thirst for justice and salvation borders on the inane, if anything can distract them from the attack in the Dragonblight, this is certainly it."

"True enough, but do you intend to really destroy it?" Vaedra couldn't help but feel disquieted at the idea of his heart being destroyed. She was not of the mindset that Arthas truly had a chance of being redeemed, but perhaps if its existence allowed him to retain just enough of his humanity...

"Why does it concern you?" His words interrupted her thoughts, a knowing grin on his face. "Concerned for my safety?"

"Well I..." the rogue thought quickly, "... we couldn't leave that promise of yours unfulfilled, now could we?"

She knew he could probably tell that there was more to it than that, but for now he looked satisfied.

Swiftly moving on, "So, what you need to do is find a way to leak this information to the Argent Crusade and ensure that they see to act on it. I will have the Cult of the Damned bring it to the Cathedral of Darkness, oh say, let's give them three days time..."

Vaedra nodded, considering. "I will likely have to reveal myself to someone close to Fordring in order to do so... I suspect that they would not be apt to believe just any ranting adventurer."

"Do what you must," he said, nonchalant.

"I think," the rogue chewed her lower lip, "that I might approach Thassarian..." she said carefully, not sure how he would react.

There was a pause, he said nothing. Trying to fill the gap she continued, "He knows me, and likely can keep my identity a secret..."

"Do what you must," he spoke again, turning away and signaling the end of their meeting.

"Very well..." she hesitated before leaving, unsure if she should add on the title he had decreed she use. He hadn't corrected her yet, or maybe he was waiting to see if she would, was it just another one of his games? She shook her head, paranoia like that would only serve to torment her mind further.

Leaving quickly, Vaedra couldn't help but let her thoughts drift back to the heart. Her curiosity concerning it was insatiable, she very much wanted to know more... She had a bit of time, maybe she could do a bit of investigating before she met with Thassarian...

-

Was he allowing her to think she had too much freedom? Perhaps, though the outburst from the invasion of her dreams was not entirely unexpected.

How long? How long should he continue the charade? How long until she figured it out herself if she didn't already know... Was a false sense of security the key to keeping her obedient and close, only to be closed in on with a ruthless iron fist at a later time?

He laughed.

She didn't want the heart destroyed, it was touching.

* * *

_Author's Note: Again, thank you everyone for your continued reviews, they make me /happydance and incite creativity, I promise! Also, I would like to note that for those of you that have completed the quest chain in Icecrown involving the frozen heart of Arthas, I will be further introducing that into this story, however I will be deviating from the storyline somewhat and modifying dialogue and such to better suit this fic. Just wanted to let you players know so I don't get yelled at :X. Sorry for a slightly shorter chapter, just worked out that way with the impending events for chapter 14, but more to come soon =)_


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Naz'anak, the Forgotten Depths, did she dare go back there? The faceless ones with their writhing tentacles and frightening visages whispering in her ear... that was where Vaedra first found the heart. Encased in ice, pulsating in the murky pool it had beckoned her, only to leave a searing imprint in her hand from where she touched it and a ghostly apparition warning her that she shouldn't have dared come close.

..._he's going to come looking for you._

Had that day sealed her fate? Or had he watched her long before that, planning on taking her for his own, just another unfortunate circumstance leading up to her inevitable imprisonment... It was difficult to say.

The Lich King had said that it no longer resided there, that it was in safe-keeping until the time came for it to be destroyed, so where might she find the boy? She had so many unanswered questions, she dare not think that the spirit had departed completely once the heart had been moved. Perhaps he had manifested when Arthas had first removed the organ, a small vestige of the humanity that yet remained within him. If that was the case she hoped he might yet persist until the time came when that piece of him was lost forever...

Bitter cold wind cut at the rogue's cheeks as she flew across the battered wasteland of Icecrown, the ever-present oppressive mist weighing upon her shoulders. A vile stench wafted upwards from the recesses of the vile hold of Malykriss, invading her nostrils. Traveling west, Vaedra looked down into the Court of Bones, a courtyard of sorts leading up to the grand stairs of Icecrown Citadel, surrounded on all sides by the wicked spired ramparts that tore up and down the landscape. The ground was sundered and black, the inevitable path that led beneath the glacier and to that cursed pit she loathed to re-enter.

Swooping her onyx drake downward, the rogue glanced up into the Citadel's sealed entrance.

_So this is where it starts.... _

_This is where it began... _a faint voice replied.

Startled, Vaedra quickly glanced around.

"Where are you?" She asked aloud.

_Meet me in the Court of Bones. _The voice was ethereal and thin with a lightness behind it that belied the darkness of the situation.

Vaedra settled on the frozen ground, dismounting, eyes peering into the mist for the source of the wispy words, almost as though she was afraid he would be swept away at any moment by the harsh winds.

It was just a young boy, blonde hair slightly tousled as it tends to be, dressed in all the finery of a royal heir. He sat upon the marred ground cross-legged, his hands roaming across the surface of the stone. He looked up when the rogue drew closer, his features youthful and fair, but with obvious transparency.

"This is where it began," he repeated, coming to his feet.

Vaedra stopped before him, resisting the temptation to reach out and touch him, just to see how much was real...

"Where what began, Matthias?"

"He found you, didn't he?" The boy continued. "I told you he would."

She nodded, "Yes, he did."

His face twisted in confusion, "But yet you are still here..." He tried to kick at an imaginary pebble on the ground.

"I watched him you know? I watched him get rid of it. He threw it all the way down that hole. Said he wouldn't need it anymore. Said it would make him weak."

"Matthias..." the rogue began, "can you tell me what happened?"

The boy looked frustrated, he sighed, shifting his weight to lean heavily upon one side. "You couldn't possibly understand."

"I know more than you think," she tried to explain gently. "He plans on destroying it you know."

She expected shock or fear, but the boy showed none of it. He kept his head low.

"It was inevitable, he can never truly be free of his weakness until it is gone. Hopes of redemption, humanity, those are just ideas from a dream now..."

"What happened that convinced him that he should be rid of it?" Vaedra dared ask.

The boy stuffed his hands into his pockets, eyes on the ground.

"This is where it happened. He fought and almost died. He fought Illidan Stormrage and almost didn't win. That's when he decided. After that fight, the prince realized what was holding him back was that he was still human... he could still feel... he could still bleed. He still had a heart. When he became king..." he paused a moment. "...the first thing he did was rid himself of it, down into that pit where we first met. And you were the first person to touch it since."

Vaedra considered this, "Are you linked to the heart, Matthias?"

The boy shrugged, leaning back and forth between each foot. "I exist because it does, to serve as a reminder. He can never be free of me until it is destroyed for good."

"So he knows of you?"

Matthias laughed, it was not a youthful, exuberant sound however, it was eerie and cold, the clear blue eyes expressionless.

"He does but he doesn't. I haunt him every day without needing to be near him. The idea of me is more than enough of a warning. Of what he once was."

The woman looked down upon him, should she feel pity? She wasn't sure, even this apparition of Arthas' past seemed not to have emotions, perhaps even this boy didn't want her pity.

"Why did he simply not destroy the heart when it was first removed? Why leave that physical reminder of what made him weak?"

The boy wrung his hands together, "He wished to forget, he hoped he would forget. Maybe a tiny part of him wanted to deny its existence completely, but he was unable to end the thing himself. Maybe that tiny part of him was me. As long as it persists there is some humanity remaining, and it is that part of him that can never see it through."

More questions... did he truly not wish it destroyed? Was he only saying he was to draw Fordring out? He did not believe that the paladins would have the stomach to truly be rid of the item for it represented Arthas' chance at being redeemed. But what if they faltered? What if the Lich King was only tempting them there so that he might goad them into exterminating it for him, was he so confident that everything would play out exactly as he wanted...

These questions and more plagued her further, but they were not anything that this boy could answer.

"Thank you, Matthias. I will do what I can." She turned to mount her drake.

"Don't try to stop him, Vaedra!" The boy called after her, seemingly reading her thoughts. "You cannot really know what you're up against. He knows no pain, remorse, humanity... he'll do whatever it takes to get what he wants."

The rogue smiled down at him, "Yes, I know that very well," the leathery wings beating to lift her away from the ground and away from the boy who stood shaking his head behind her.

_No one really understands... _

_-_

Night approached in Icecrown, the blackened sky crackling with lightning, the thick air weighing down on the souls that dare walk its surface. Through the misty air flew The Skybreaker, manned by the 7th Legion soldiers and aid of the Argent Crusade it propelled along, an instrument of death. Cannons lined both sides, a massive eagle's head and alliance crests adorned the bow, truly a wondrous vessel... and surely a testament to the alliance's stupidity.

They believed it magnificent, a deadly weapon that no doubt would help in the destruction of the Scourge, but more often than not they chose to butt heads with the Horde, splitting their focus and leaving themselves vulnerable.

Thassarian was there to help them with that.

His presence was a constant reminder of the impending threat, and his unparalleled knowledge and focus kept them aligned with the tasks at hand... The first of the death knights to rejoin the alliance he had come to Northrend with a sense of duty and unfulfilled obligation to his king and humanity, but with the death of Prince Valanar and the glaringly obvious disdain the rest of the men seemed to hold for him, he made his way to Icecrown with only his own heart and vengeance to drive him.

And so he stood on the port side of the Skybreaker day in and out, ever diligent in his tasks and ruthless with his orders... this was how Vaedra found him.

Bringing her black drake alongside the vessel, the rogue deftly scaled the side of the boat, peaking her head up over the railing.

The death knight stood speaking to an officer of the 7th Legion, his back to the port side. When he finished his business with the soldier he turned, coming face to face with the woman clad in black leather armor.

Startled, his hands immediately went to reach for his swords, hers rising in turn in a non-threatening manner.

"Thassarian... it's Vaedra."

He stopped, lifting a brow and peering at her with a critical eye in the darkness.

"I haven't seen you in some time..." he replied in the two-tone voice of the death knight, one pitch seemingly overlapping the other.

"Please keep your voice low, I have something to discuss with you. The situation is... delicate."

He nodded, guiding her to a more secluded section of the ship, his large armor-clad form obscuring her smaller one.

"Well, what is it?" He asked after a moment, still looking skeptical.

The rogue hesitated, looking nervously out across the deck. "I... should not even be here. It could put a lot at risk."

"Spit it out, woman! You obviously came to me for a reason. What plagues you?"

Vaedra took an intake of breath, "Arthas' heart, have you heard of it?"

Thassarian looked stunned, "Well yes, but I've always believed it to be merely a myth to impress..."

"It is real. I have seen it."

The death knight mulled this over.

Vaedra continued, "I overheard some of the Cultists, they are planning on destroying it in the Cathedral of Darkness, in three days time."

"How did you come by this information?" The raised eyebrow reappeared on his face.

The rogue's eyes shifted warily, her voice lowering. "I have been working secretly with the Stormwind Assassins on a matter of great importance, I am risking a great deal by even speaking to you. Suffice it to say I did not think it would be right to let this go unheeded..."

He seemed to accept the explanation, "You are correct, we must act immediately, but I believe we must do so in secret. The Ebon Blade has been infiltrated by the Cult of the Damned before, we need to inform the Argent Crusade. Every single paladin in that order was hand-picked by Tirion himself. If there's anyone free of cultist corruption, it's those guys."

Vaedra nodded, "I can trust you to inform them of this then? And I would also ask that you could keep my name out of it, I'm sure you can understand the sensitivity of my situation..."

He gripped her shoulder warmly, "Of course. You've done well. The alliance is lucky to have someone like you in its ranks to slaughter the scourge without prejudice," his mouth twisted into a wry grin.

She returned the smile, "I do what I must."

Whistling for her drake she swiftly disappeared into the night sky, leaving Thassarian to sit and wonder about the strange encounter.

-

"This could be the chance we've been looking for..." Tirion mused thoughtfully, the Ashbringer resting easily at his side. "If the heart is still in tact than it means that there still is a chance that Arthas can be redeemed, and a way for us to finally defeat the Lich King."

"You're assuming that there's anything left to redeem," the Ebon Watcher snickered at his side. The figure swathed in a dark blue cloak with two wickedly jagged swords crossed upon his back pulled his cowl lower. "Surely after all this time you don't still dare to hope that he truly may be saved, not after everything he's done..." the words were thickly laced with bitterness.

Fordring's armor gleamed brilliantly against the snow, antithesis of the morose man that stood next to him looking down upon Scourgeholme. Atop Crusader's Pinnacle the duo had celebrated a triumph over the Scourge presence in Icecrown, albeit a minor one.

"He has not destroyed it yet, I take that to be a sign from the Light. Surely he could have been rid of it long ago, but some part of him must have been holding back, unable to let go of that last shred of humanity that must yet remain. Whether he knows it or not it's very existence strengthens this truth." Tirion firmly attested.

Glowing eyes beneath the dark hood closed in quiet indignation, "Unless of course he's merely been harboring it all this time, waiting for the opportune moment to use it against someone as blindingly optimistic as you..."

"Spare me, Darion!" The paladin said more harshly then he meant to. More softly, "I may not have felt his treachery as keenly as you did but I am certainly aware of it. I'm not a fool, I do not believe that any conscious part of the Lich King desires redemption. I only spare a bit of hope that deep within him, the tiny part that may yet still be Arthas Menethil can cling to the Light and let me guide him away from the darkness that has infected his soul. It is this small hope that drives me, and will guide my blade when necessary. I believe that chance is worth fighting for."

The Ebon Watcher shook his head, quietly listening. "Believe what you must to get through the night, my friend, I have long since abandoned such idealistic notions of hope. Vengeance is the driving force in my heart now, and it is hungry."

The two men stood in silence for many moments, each reflecting heavily upon the others words. Truly their methods differed as vastly as night and day, but they both knew that they strove forward towards the same goal.

After a long pause, Darion spoke. "At least let me send some of my death knights to aid you, surely you could use the help..."

Tirion chuckled, "No offense friend, but this is a job for paladins. I wouldn't want your knights becoming..." he hesitated, "... a bit overzealous in our efforts."

Gritting his teeth, Darion tried to stifle the anger that threatened to spill out. "We are not mindless wretches incapable of exercising restraint, _paladin. _If I send them to fight for you they will heed your call, and refusing our help when we have a debt to fulfill is most insulting!"

"I did not mean it like that, Darion, please calm yourself," Fordring placated. "I merely meant that it could be very dangerous, and I need my paladins focused on the task at hand. I also know that on occasion the Cult of the Damned has been known to slip amongst your ranks, and I cannot risk giving anything away before we arrive. If our source is accurate than we should have surprise on our side..."

"Oh yes..." the Ebon Watcher drawled. "I hate to spoil your fun, but no matter how much you prepare, no matter how secretive you may attempt to be, there will be something you've forgotten or are too blind to foresee. Expect the unexpected, and then laced within that treachery expect even more to emerge. Nothing is as simple as it seems, never make that mistake. Do so and you've already lost..."

The elder man sighed, his shoulders feeling heavy. "Your bleak outlook fills my heart with pain, Darion, though I can understand and appreciate the wisdom within your words. I know your first hand experience is unrivaled... but fear not, for my faith in the Light is unswerving..."

Darion grimaced at this.

Tirion continued, "... I trust in its inherit goodness, in its unprejudiced desire for all mortals to have the chance at salvation. I believe wholly with my being that whatever the Lich King can throw in my way, the Light will be on my side to see us through. And, if that isn't enough..." he gently patted the hilt of his Ashbringer. "...well, nothing wrong with a little aggressive persuasion to nudge things in the right direction."

Darion couldn't help but smile at this.

-

"I've done what you asked of me," Vaedra said somewhat casually, fishing for information.

"Good," he replied stoically, revealing nothing.

Silence ensued.

"Do you really think Tirion will come personally?" She baited.

A toothy grin widened upon the Lich King's face, "Oh yes, I _know _he will."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Because he is so close to feeling Arthas' salvation he can taste it. It is perverse almost seeing the lengths they'd go to, twistedly fanatical, and yet they use their 'faith in the Light' as justification! So long as you performed your task effectively..." he turned his unwavering glare upon the rogue, "then I can say for certain that he wouldn't miss this opportunity for anything. And oh what a meeting it shall be..." he cackled maliciously. "I will so enjoy running him through with Frostmourne, using his body that represents all that is good and pure and desecrating it before the very eyes of his beloved Order, perverting his once noble form into that which he detested and fought to destroy..."

Vaedra watched as he breathed these words almost fervently, it was the most emotion she'd seen out of him save the unpredictable surges of anger that gripped him from time to time, and she couldn't help but wonder if this was more personal, a vendetta of Arthas' perhaps. She waited a moment for him to calm after reveling in his deranged moment of wickedness before she spoke again.

"And what would you have me do?"

The Lich King pondered a moment, looking the rogue over as though he was seeing her for the first time. "He will bring others no doubt, ensure that they do not come between me and him, that old paladin is _mine._"

She nodded, "Will the heart be safe?"

His evil smile became a sneer as he regarded her, "Your feigned concern grows tiresome, you need not worry about its fate. I know you don't believe that there is anything left to save, and you would be correct, so you best cease your pitiful attempts at being sympathetic, it does not suit you."

Vaedra lowered her eyes, lightly biting her lip... "Of course," she agreed, though she was unable to disguise the fact that a tiny part of her _did _care, how could she not? Surely part of him would change with the items destruction, just now he had displayed a brief bout of passion, was there still a speck of warmth yet present in that cold frozen heart of his? If the encounter went as he expected it would, perhaps she would never know...


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The Cathedral of Darkness loomed to the west of Icecrown Citadel, it's black spires tall and frightening. Ramparts lined the grand stairs on either side, beckoning outward to those that dare enter while the entrance was a gaping maw tilted inward as to draw you in with the poisonous tenets of the Cult of the Damned.

Inside, candelabra flickered delicately against the rune-inscribed black saronite pillars casting an eerie glow across the stony floor. Dozens of acolytes lie knelt in prayer, the hum of their murmuring sent shivers down Vaedra's spine. These were mortals that willingly served the Lich King in life, bound by promises of equality and immortality, or sometimes bound instead by fear... not so different from herself she supposed.

_No, I'm not like them, I mustn't be..._

A curtain of blood dangled downward from the recesses of the arched ceiling, brushing against the circular altar that boldly decorated its center. She could think of no more fitting resting place for the heart of Arthas to reside, so blackened and gnarled it had likely become.

If she had been able to see the sun's rays in the desolate sky the rogue would have seen it just beginning to set in the west, the darkness that ever permeated the land just settling in. Had she been a spiritual woman she might have said a prayer for the unknowing paladins that undoubtedly made their way to the Cathedral this very moment, granting them a swift and painless death, but as it was, she was not.

Cursing the abundance of dancing candlelight, Vaedra hid inconspicuously behind one of the large, spiked pillars that flanked the crimson altar on either side. Leather mask pulled snugly across her face she stood bathed in the shadow of the terrible adornments that resolutely lined the forsaken place.

The incessant chanting of the zealots continued relentlessly, grating upon the rogue's nerves. Did they never tire of being unswervingly loyal with naught to show for it? Surely the only immortality that awaited them was the unfeeling realm of undeath... Motionless they knelt, lost in their prayers, diligently awaiting their master's orders when the time came.

Surely she differed from them, she had been singled out, was given special assignments, he spared her life even when it was inconvenient...

_Don't be a fool! He does not care about you, you are a tool. Never forget that._

She watched as a man stoically entered the chamber clad in scarlet robes, his face a visage of death as he wore a skull-like mask upon his head, bowing reverently. Stepping carefully he approached the altar, falling to his knees in front of it, just a few feet away from Vaedra's precarious position. She supposed it wouldn't have mattered if he had seen her, but it appeared that he did not, he was so enraptured within his own twisted doctrines.

Upon the floor before the altar lie an intricate metal working of runes etched out upon a flat, cold surface. Sweeping characters and necromantic symbols were lovingly carved into the saronite plating, and the rogue could only guess as to their purpose.

The man delicately ran his warped fingers across the etchings, his eyes closing in quiet devotion. Reaching into his robes he withdrew a large, serrated dagger, brandishing it out before him, the blade's edge twinkling amidst the soft candlelight. He began to speak in a tongue that Vaedra did not recognize, the words virulent and dark, oozing past his lips to befoul the surrounding air.

The rogue watched in horror as his form began to swell, bloating beneath the crimson robes. The pallid, bony hand gripping the knife plumped around the hilt, his whispered words heavy and thick.

He knelt there a moment, his arms outstretched in fervor, the dagger shaking lightly in his swollen hand. Slowly he drew up the voluminous sleeve of his robe, revealing the fleshy arm underneath, blue veins protruding out from the wan skin. The man pressed the dagger against his wrist, the jagged edge easily slicing through the flesh to immediately show red. He drew the blade upward along the length of his forearm, blood flowing profusely from the self-inflicted wound. He made no outward sounds or movements to imply that he was in severe pain beyond the slight tremor in his wrist, the precious liquid pouring off the zealot's arm to run into the rune carvings on the metal plate before him.

Trickling downward, the markings slowly began to fill with the necrotically-infused blood, the stench of rancid metal met the rogue's nose; she covered her masked face in disgust to further filter out the noxious smell. The swirl of dark magic that seemed to encompass the robed man shifted to settle over the carvings, the crimson liquid slightly aglow with the evil energies that he had infused himself with just a few moment before.

"My blood is yours, my lord," he whispered hoarsely. "I beseech you! Grant me your favor so that I may perform this task you've set before me, let my life force strengthen you! Take my blood in its stead! Use me as your vessel to channel that which plagues you, let me take your suffering as my own. My will is yours, whatever you require of me, my blood is yours..."

As he rasped these words the remainder of the surplus blood drained from his arm, the trickle ceasing but the large gaping wound left behind. Rising to his feet, the man pushed his skull mask away from his face slightly, his gaze turning to fix on Vaedra's concealed position. His scarred lips pulled away from the rotting, black teeth to flash her a twisted grin.

"It is almost time."

Replacing the dagger beneath his robes, he knelt once more, his head bent in quiet prayer.

Did the grotesque ritual confirm that he indeed wanted the heart destroyed? It seemed very likely. The rogue tried to dismiss the unsettling quiver that was present in her gut, turning her eyes away from the deranged cleric and instead to the cloaked figures that now entered the Cathedral. Filing quietly between the rows of acolytes crouched reverently, they settled against one of the low metal slabs lining the chamber, keeping their heads tilted downward.

Vaedra sighed as she quickly scanned their forms, the gray beard beneath the hood of one of them painfully obvious...

_Paladin subtlety... _it would almost be amusing if their clumsy actions likely didn't end with certain death.

Turning her gaze away from the aged countenance of Fordring she glanced across the lowered faces of his four companions. Two clean-shaven young men and the pursed lips of a woman she did not recognize remained even-tempered at Tirion's side. Looking at the last figure with the stubble-covered chin and dark skin, however, she immediately crouched low so that she might get a better look. Surely it couldn't be...

As a small processional of acolytes swept into the Cathedral bearing the much coveted artifact, the dark-skinned man could not resist a slight turn of his head to watch them enter, affording Vaedra a clear look at the sneering lips and near black eyes that she had definitely seen before.

_Marcus... _oh that wasn't good.

The man at the altar rose and turned to face the approaching acolytes, hands clasped in anticipation. He beckoned the entourage forward slightly as they bore a circular metal disk upon which the heart lie magically suspended a few inches in the air, pulsing and drawing light inward wherever it moved. The ice that enveloped the organ was hardened and black, evidence perhaps of the great evil it harbored.

_Marcus, a paladin? _Vaedra knew she should be focusing on the intimate exchange transpiring at the altar and keeping an eye on Fordring but her thoughts wandered to the man she had met at Wintergarde Keep and his unexpected arrival. She thought she saw Tirion's lips move slightly but was unable to discern any words, though his companions lowered their heads further and continued to remain silent.

"High Invoker Basaleph," the lead acolyte presented him the heart outstretched as he fell to one knee. "We have retrieved the heart as requested, my lord."

The High Invoker nodded, taking the disk and worshipfully placing it upon the altar. The lesser acolytes bowed and departed, resuming their places with the others alongside the low metal slabs.

The rogue's eye returned to the paladins when she noticed Tirion shuffling uncomfortably, his hand reaching into his robes to grip his sword, his gaze moving furtively around the vast chamber.

"The Lich King is here, may the Light guide our blades."

From the open doors of the Cathedral of Darkness he entered, clad fully in all the splendor of his evil, black armor, Frostmourne clutched fiercely in his hand. He strode calmly towards the altar, his smoky blue eyes fixed upon the gently humming heart that floated unhindered on the metal plate. Purposefully he moved forward, each heavy footfall resonating deeply within Vaedra's chest.

Arriving in front of Basaleph, who immediately fell to the floor in a sniveling grovel, the Lich King looked at the heart for a long moment, considering, before his head turned and his fiery glower rested upon the surprised face of Tirion Fordring.

"Uninvited guests..." he began. The rogue could almost feel the smirk upon his face that she had come to know so well, the slightest twinge of amusement evident in his words, brimming with superiority at the knowledge that the paladin had played so easily into his hands.

"...did you think you would go unnoticed within my own dominion?" His fist clenched tighter around the hilt of Frostmourne. "How do you like my Cathedral? Surely you never imagined your final resting place to be in a structure such as this, does it upset your pious sensibilities so? Knowing the corruption that will befoul your body and soul as you lay dying, your own heart betraying you in your last moments..."

Tirion stood tall, pulling the cowl of his hood back and away from his determined face. The Ashbringer appeared in his hand.

"You sound a little too confident. Especially considering the way our last encounter ended." He stepped forward, challengingly.

The Lich King chuckled darkly, "If I recall correctly our situation has been reversed. You no longer have your advantage of standing on holy ground, you think you dare stand a chance against me here?"

Tirion appeared calm, but Vaedra couldn't ignore the contemptuous sneer that Marcus wore upon his face, he looked about ready to charge the Lich King himself.

"That may be true," Tirion's gaze shifted to the suspended heart, "but I don't need to stand on holy ground to run that disembodied heart of yours through with the Ashbringer."

A gleam entered the Lich King's eye, smirk widened across his face. "I call your bluff, paladin! Surely you don't wish me to believe that you would give up the chance to redeem humanity's most wayward son? You'd sooner sacrifice yourself than allow that possibility to slip by, your obsession with salvation is what drives you, gives you something to fight for. Surely your existence as a servant of the Light would be meaningless if you didn't do everything in your power to see that happen..." He reached his hand out, gesturing to the floating heart.

"What do you see, paladin? What does the future hold for Arthas? Will he be saved by your hand, or will you allow him to slip away into darkness, into obscurity within the clutches of the Lich King..." he laughed again, making Vaedra shudder. She couldn't tell, did he want Tirion to destroy it, or not? Was he trying to spark doubt into the old paladin's mind before he finished him off, or was it something else?

Tirion did look, he looked deeply. He sighed heavily, resigned. "I had to see for myself. You're right, I couldn't allow it to be destroyed. Surely I thought some last shredded remnant of your humanity yet remained, and now I can be sure..."

The paladin's age seemed to show keenly then, his eyes grew heavy, his shoulders slumped in defeat. The Ashbringer hung lifelessly at his side...

"Surely," he began slowly, shaking his head, "...surely I must have been gravely mistaken." The fire returned to his eyes. "Only the shadows of the past remain, there is nothing left to redeem!"

And that's when everything went to hell.

Tirion let out a furious yell as he brandished the Ashbringer over his head and leapt towards the seemingly innocuous heart, blade careening downward into the frozen organ. Vaedra's heart leapt into her throat.

_No..._

Basaleph shrieked in agony as the impending burst of energy incinerated his flesh, his lifeless corpse falling to the floor. Fordring collapsed in a heap, his sword clattering against the stone uselessly next to him.

The Lich King roared, falling to one knee, hands grasped securely to Frostmourne for support. Panting, "You... will pay for that, old man!" Looking around to his faithful acolytes, beckoning, "Kill them all!"

Tirion's paladins jumped up from their knelt positions to surround their fallen brother, weapons at the ready to fight in defense of their Highlord.

Vaedra's hand flew to her throat. What did she do now? Join in on the slaughtering of the paladins? What a fool he was, leaving the heart on display as such, just taunting them, tempting them into annihilating it for him...

Her thoughts were interrupted when a yell broke out from the entrance of the Cathedral.

"We thought you paladins might be able to use some help after all!" Thassarian, Darion Mograine, Koltira and a whole slew of Knights of the Ebon Blade came pouring in then, their blades mercilessly chopping through the acolytes as though they were parchment.

The rogue's stomach turned, they would quickly be overwhelmed with the Lich King in his weakened state. She glanced back over to the altar at that moment, and she nearly did a double take.

The heart lay in tact, no longer suspended magically upon the metal disk, but lying on its side, a large crack embedded into the ice.

_We must flee! _She thought, franticly.

_NO! _He growled in response.

_We must go before we are overwhelmed, you will have another chance, another day. Let us be gone!_

She could sense his hesitation.

_Fordring will not soon forget this day... _she quickly ventured.

There was another brief moment of silence.

_Please! _She nearly pleaded.

Steeling herself to disappear into the shadows, his rumbling voice suddenly came.

_Come to me._

Vaedra emerged from behind the pillar, the chaos in full swing, her eyes turned onto the still pulsating but fallen heart. Reaching out she grasped it firmly in her hand, searing pain immediately shooting up her arm the moment she touched it, even through the leather of her glove. Gritting her teeth she ran towards the Lich King, ducking from shadow to shadow, darting behind anything available to hide her presence.

As she neared him, a single figure turned to look at her as she passed, black eyes locked with her own, confusion, and then... recognition. For the briefest of moments they looked at one another, a multitude of emotions crossing the others face, the battle quieted momentarily in their own thoughts as realization hit. Marcus had seen her... and he knew.

_Oh... fuck._

She knelt at the Lich King's side, grasping his shoulder, the heart cradled against her chest. Vaedra briefly forgot about the pain as his arm encircled her waist, the looming faces of the death knights closing in fast, when she felt herself gripped... a shadowy hand reaching out and plucking them away from where they stood. Nausea swept through her, skin crawled as though a thousand insects danced across her skin, and her vision went dark...

-

She gasped for breath as though she had been suffocating, the shadows finally clearing from the air and her lungs. The cavernous, icy chamber of Icecrown Citadel came into existence, giving the rogue relief to be standing on solid ground once more.

Vaedra found herself in the Lich King's embrace standing next to his throne, his plated arm holding her snugly against him. He looked down at her, face barely discernible beneath the jagged helm. What was that feeling that she felt him convey? Tenderness? No, definitely not. But maybe... respect? Appreciation? Surely she thought he would fault her for allowing the Ebon Blade to show up and disrupt his plans... But instead, he looked almost grateful.

She hissed suddenly, remembering the wrenching pain that emanated up her arm from the icy heart she clutched in her hand. He held out his armored glove to her and gently took it, openly eying the newly acquired slice in its frozen exterior.

"Perhaps... I should not have been so hasty," he began, devoid of emotion. Vaedra shrugged and moved to pull away, but his grip was like iron.

"I think today you've proven your... loyalty," he continued, looking at her intently.

The rogue resisted the urge to try and wriggle away from him, his stare was unnerving. She turned her eyes away, "It was nothing."

His lip twitched upward slightly, "Of course," his arm loosening around her waist. She immediately drew back, avoiding his gaze.

What else could she have done? Suddenly rallied with the paladins and death knights in a unified force against the Lich King? The thought had never even crossed her mind, and that worried her greatly. Seizing the opportunity for escape was one of her greatest strengths, which she had, but seemingly with the wrong party. Though, the pragmatic part of her knew that if they had failed in their attack, the consequences of betrayal would likely be severe. But then there was also Marcus to consider...

"There is something... I need to take care of," she spoke as she inched away.

He nodded, the slight curve of his lip still evident.

She wasn't sure what to make of his newly civil actions, had her act of trust impacted him so profoundly? Or maybe he realized in those last few moments how precious the heart really was to him, that he wasn't quite ready to be fully rid of the humanity that still coursed through him. Either way, she had to be careful, if any of the emotions of Arthas still existed, stroking them could be a dangerous game...

As she departed, the Lich King's minor smirk fell into a scowl.

The presence of the heart was beginning to play out nicely, the woman became more and more convinced each day that there was a man buried beneath the hard shell, a man with true feelings and the potential for friendship, maybe even more... Her desperate act of rescuing it at that dire moment, even bearing the pain that coursed through her vulnerable, mortal body from taking it up and urging him to flee only served to reinforce his certainty. Oh yes, he would let her believe it for a time, let her think that he could grow to care for her, protect her as she longed to be, her dark guardian that she might share eternity with once he graced her with his power...

The potential gains he stood to acquire from taking the time to fan her delicate, human ego could far outweight the disgust he felt at having to do so...

For all her skill as a rogue, as much as she tried to be impassive and cold, he could see the fragile woman beneath it all, the coward. It was becoming easy to influence her dreams, make subtle suggestions, show her things that weren't really there... She had resisted at first, but over time he could see that inevitably, his presence was wearing on her. Her attraction to Arthas was undeniable, her desire for power obvious, her _need _for companionship... inescapable. And it was only that much more sweet that while he manipulated her vulnerable will, he could still be accomplishing so much.

_Yes, it was playing out very nicely._

The heart had not been destroyed, as he had always intended. But it was not just for the purposes of convincing the rogue that she may yet find a place in it...

_The Ashbringer... _in the hands of Tirion Fordring, oh how it stung, seemingly purified when Darion Mograine had thrown it to the paladin in a moment of desperation. And now, he had felt its bite more than once.

Removing the heart from the pit of Naz'anak after its untimely discovery, the Lich King had taken it, revisiting the item that had been a source of so much contempt... he had poured his hate into it, infusing it with dark energy, making it stronger. He needed something to quell the power and purity of the Ashbringer, something to stifle the light and mute its sting...

It seemed that this little experiment had been a successful first test.

* * *

_Author's Note: I really hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, I was a little worried that it might come across kind of.... wussy. But to be honest, LK seems to have a knack for knowing when the right time to withdraw is, (even despite Arthas' headstrong nature) he's done so previously both at the battle at LHC and Wrathgate, so I hope it rang true here as well. If you were disappointed I apologize, but just trust me, it's leading up to something bigger in a later chapter, so bear with me =) The changes I've made to the frozen heart storyline are very important for later on also, have no fear!_


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

She had to get to Marcus... now.

How much did he know? Probably nothing definitive, but enough. He had met her before at Wintergarde Keep, suspicious of her cover then, and apparently wily enough to have escaped the destruction that had ensued shortly thereafter. And then in the Cathedral, the recognition was apparent on his face... he had seen her, holding the heart and running to the Lich King's side only to disappear with him in a flurry of darkness and shadow.

Unless he was completely simple-minded, he likely could put two and two together and at least assume her involvement in all of this, which is why Vaedra flew with all speed to back to the Cathedral of Darkness after their hasty retreat. She hoped she might be able to catch him before the paladins and death knights departed entirely...

-

The Crusaders of Virtue concentrated their healing efforts on their fallen Highlord, helping him to his feet once he came to. He thanked them and leaned heavily upon the arm of his fellow Argent Crusade paladins, sweeping his gaze across the decimated Cathedral.

High Invoker Basaleph's shriveled corpse lay upon the blood-filled altar while the mutilated bodies of the Lich King's acolytes lay strewn about the chamber. After the Knights of the Ebon Blade had finished their slaughter they began to toss them casually into a pile in the corner. The hooded man with the dark skin and black eyes began rummaging through the cultist's robes, catching Tirion's eye.

"Rose! What are you doing?" Fordring barked harshly, limping over to the crouched man.

Marcus pocketed some coin before he stood to face the Highlord, "Eh, it's not like they'll be needing it anymore..."

Tirion glowered at the man. "Don't touch that filth, you wish to carry the taint of the Scourge upon your person?"

Marcus sneered, "What are you accusing me of, _old man? _I hate the cultists as much as anyone, doesn't mean we can't enjoy the spoils though..." he flipped a shiny trinket in his hand to emphasize his point.

Tirion shook off the arm of the other paladin so that he might stand at his full height and stare imposingly down at the younger man. "You listen here, _boy, _Commander Eligor Dawnbringer personally recommended you, the Light only knows why, to be a prominent part of the Argent Crusade's undertakings..."

Fordring looked grim as he said this, Marcus only grinned smugly.

The Highlord continued, "... but it is only because that I wish to honor his memory and one of his last requests before he fell at Wintergarde Keep that I suffer your company and haven't already run you through with my blade." He let the threat hang in the air a moment.

"Oh, is that so?" Marcus spat distastefully, squaring his shoulders and stepping forward to meet Fordring's stare head on. The other paladins moved to try to intervene but Tirion casually nodded them away. The Ebon Blade knights grinned at one another from the corner, eager to see a fist fight erupt.

They glared at each other for a long moment, Marcus clenching his fists at his side, lip curled into a hateful scowl while the Highlord's face was a mask of discipline and serenity. The younger man seemed to lose his nerve, the scowl on his mouth twisting instead into a wry smirk.

"You think you know everything, huh? Think you're so superior? Well then, maybe I won't be telling you what it is that I saw..."

He apparently expected for his words to have more impact, the way he looked around from one face to another, but both parties seemed to ignore the comment and go back to whatever they were doing once the possibility of a scuffle was dismissed. Tirion gave the man a smirk of his own before he turned away.

Exacerbated, Marcus threw his hands up. "Oh, so that's it then? You think I don't have anything important to say, huh? Fine, let it come bite you in the ass later when you least expect it. I'll be having a drink at Valiance Keep laughing it up with my boys while you sit here and have your teeth kicked in by some woman." He began to stalk out.

"What woman?" Thassarian asked suddenly, grabbing Marcus by the shoulder to whirl him around. The dark-skinned man recoiled at the touch and threw the hand away, eying the death knight dangerously.

He hesitated a moment, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to divulge the information. "Some tart I met at Wintergarde Keep right before it went up in flames, said her name was Sylvia, but I didn't believe her." He smiled somewhat proudly at his obviously dizzying intellect.

"How is this relevant?" Tirion sighed, blatantly annoyed with the man.

Marcus sneered again, turning his attention back to the death knight that seemed to actually be interested.

"I saw her here again, tonight. She grabbed up that... frozen shit, thing after Gramps over there decided to take a nap," he gestured to the Highlord, making Tirion's face turn red, "then ran over to the bastard King himself and disappeared with him." He spat on the ground.

"What... did she look like?" Thassarian inquired carefully, much to everyone's surprise. He appeared like he was afraid to hear the answer.

Marcus thought a moment, licking his lips. "Eh, well she's got this great rack and a tight little--"

"Her face, you cretin!" The death knight shook the man violently, looking about ready to tear his head off.

"Okay okay, calm down, shit," Marcus stepped away from Thassarian, holding his hands up defensively. He scratched his head as though he was having trouble recalling what lie above the woman's chest.

"Well uh, she's got, dark hair... and sort of, goldish-brown eyes, uh I think... And, oh yeah... And very white skin, almost like some of you, erm, death knights," he raised a brow, appearing almost suspicious.

The death knight's face fell, "It can't be..."

This peaked Fordring's interest, though Darion had remained surprisingly quiet throughout the conversation.

"Do you know this woman, Thassarian?" Tirion demanded, more forcefully than he meant to.

"I believe I do," he began slowly, wracking his brain. "But it doesn't make sense... unless perhaps the Lich King has gotten to her, and she has been turned..." He shuddered at the possibility.

"Eh, eh, see!" Marcus strode over to the Highlord, poking him in the chest as though he understood everything. "You see where ignoring me gets you? Without me you'd all never know what was going on right under your noses... I think a little appreciation is in order then, hmm?"

Tirion brushed the offensive finger aside casually and began to walk towards the Cathedral's entrance. "Come," he called to his paladins. "We must return to Crusader's Pinnacle, we shall decide what to do with this information later."

Marcus gaped after them, stunned, turning to face the death knights as Mograine began to conjure a gate to take them back to the Shadow Vault.

Thassarian let out a furious yell, kicking over one of the intricate metal candelabra into the pile of cultist bodies, setting them aflame. Hatred gleamed in his eyes, jaw clenched harshly.

"Another good one lost," he said quietly after watching the acolytes burn a moment, as he disappeared into the gate.

"Hey," Marcus called after the retreating death knights, "I need to head back to the Vault too, you think I could, um, you know..." he gestured towards the dark opening.

Mograine laughed at the pitiful man standing there alone as the last of the death knights passed through the portal and the gate winked out. Cursing loudly, Marcus departed the Cathedral just in time to see Tirion and his paladins mounting their proto-drakes and taking off to the east.

"Oh that's just fucking great..."

He stood alone in the cold wind, both means of transportation having left him behind to find his own way back. He didn't notice the black drake landing silently closeby or the woman that slowly approached with swords drawn, completely unaware that his day was about to get much worse.

-

Darryl bellowed wildly as he brought his sword over his head and down towards the skeletal undead before him, nicking the thing against its bony arm. It returned with a swipe of its claws against the man who brought up his shield just in time to block the blow. Turning, he changed his angle of attack, coming in from the side, just to have the skeleton dodge out of the way at the last moment.

"Why...won't...you...die!" He huffed fiercely as their battle wore on for many minutes. His sword arm grew tired and a wound in his leg was pouring blood freely.

Finally, having little energy left, he roared in rage, bringing his sword spinning around to slice the creature's skull clean from its shoulders. Ready to revel in his victory, the man watched in horror as the skull tumbled off the edge of the vicious black ramparts and down towards the Cathedral below.

"No!" He cried as he watched it careen downwards, his shoulders slumping in defeat. How was he supposed to get the scourgestones the Ebon Watcher had instructed him to retrieve if he kept losing the skulls of the undead?!

Muttering angrily, he bandaged his wounds, cursing the stupidity of his task, and ambling off to find another skeleton to kill...

-

Marcus stood obliviously outside the Cathedral of Darkness, unaware of his impending doom. Vaedra crept closer, blades at the ready as the man stood scratching his chin.

Surely he couldn't be a paladin, underneath the torn cultist robes she could see the tattered leather armor and weathered two-handed sword that he normally wore strapped across his back. But regardless, he already knew too much, she needed to tie up this loose end and quickly...

Slinking closer, it was at that moment through some random act of chaos befitting the unpredictability of the universe, events that could never be foreseen even by those that would weave carefully laid plans ensuring every possible scenario was covered, that an undead's skull came tumbling downward from the ramparts above to crash into the unsuspecting rogue's head.

Vaedra slumped to the ground, swords clattering to her sides. Marcus turned, completely startled, to find the very rogue that had incited such curiosity from him and the death knights only moments ago, laying before him unconscious like a gift from the Light. Maybe his day wasn't turning out so bad after all...

-

After stealing the nearby black drake, Marcus made good time back to the Shadow Vault with his newly acquired prisoner in tow. Making a show of carrying the limp rogue in over his shoulder, grinning stupidly about the superior fighting prowess obviously needed to take down such an opponent, he dragged her towards the Vault's rarely-used dungeon. Large runeforges slid aside to admit him entrance to the tunnels leading into the side structure that made up the south of the Vault.

Removing her weapons and armor and placing them outside, he cuffed Vaedra's wrists and ankles using the lengths of chain hooked to the wall, allowing enough slack for her to remain crumpled upon the hard floor.

He looked at her unarmored form eagerly, "Well girly, looks like I'll get to know you better after all," he laughed at his own joke, ready to have a bit of fun.

The metal door leading into the cell crashed open, a very angry death knight looming in the doorway.

"Get... out." Thassarian seethed.

Marcus looked up, panic turning to indignation. "Hey now, I brought her in..."

"GET OUT!" The death knight roared, sending the man grudgingly out the door. Sealing the metal barrier behind him, Thassarian strode over to the woman's form lying prostrate upon the cold stone, eyes fiery as he glared downward.

Silence permeated the air as he stood there glowering over her, fists clenched at his sides.

At last, the rogue started to awaken, a throbbing ache present in her head. Ever so slowly she cracked one eye open, her extremities feeling heavy upon the cold ground. Peering out, she glimpsed a pair of metal boots, but it wasn't the familiar ones that she had been expecting...

Traveling upward, she lifted her head slightly to view the dark, metal planes of plated armor leading up to the sneering face of Thassarian. She lay her head back down.

_Shit..._

"Get up." He gritted out through clenched teeth.

Rising slowly on wobbling arms she pushed herself up to lie back against the wall, her eyes turned away. The tension was so thick in the room she could smell it...

"I thought for certain that you would be undead," he began slowly, trying to breathe evenly as to keep himself calm.

Vaedra said nothing, quickly trying to conjure something up to defend herself with...

"When I heard of your, _involvement, _with the Scourge, I thought surely not! You must have fallen and succumbed to his darkness, another hero lost to the plague, and it filled my heart with pain," his eyes closed, brow furrowing.

"But then I heard of, _this, _you seen in Wintergarde Keep just before its destruction, _you _aiding the Lich King, luring us into a trap!" His words became more heated.

The rogue tried to appear calm, "I'm not sure what Marcus told you, but as I explained before I have been working with the Stormwind Assassin's close to the heart of the Lich King, he must have mistaken what he saw--"

"Enough of your lies!" The death knight spat. "The Assassins have heard nothing about you or your mission here, you are a renegade, a traitor!" Eyes flashing angrily he took a step forward, but restrained himself at the last moment.

Vaedra's face twisted briefly in confusion. The Assassins? Here? Or was he making that bit of information up to see if she would break...

Shaking his head, "I served the Lich King once, and it sickens me every day knowing what I did, but I have accepted that at the time, I had little choice. I did what was required of me because _he _took away my free will..." Nostrils flaring, his gaze bore into hers. "...but _you, _you have a choice. You are still mortal, you still have the free will and good sense to avoid his trickery. Are you no better than those fanatical Cultists? Do his empty promises of immortality appeal to you so?"

The rogue remained quiet, she doubted that there was anything she could say that would be enough to mollify the seething anger of disgust and betrayal that coursed through the death knight, a death knight that was as honorable as they came.

Breathing deeply, Thassarian tried to still the overwhelming fury that threatened to overtake him. Beginning again, "You... you were my friend. I trusted you, one of the few who didn't turn away from me, from what I am." His words grew more enraged, features contorting. "What drove you to this? How could you do this... to me! To the alliance! What possessed you to abandon everything you believed in, everyone who cared about you?!"

Her eyes remained downcast, a small lump formed in her throat. There was nothing to assuage the feelings of treachery and bitterness he was experiencing, nothing could truly suffice... a twinge of regret gripped the rogue. Thassarian had had a great deal of faith in her, it was unfortunate that he had been drawn into all of this...

No response forthcoming, he sighed heavily. "So, this is the path you've chosen... very well." He turned to leave, sadness creeping into his voice. "You will have to accept your fate... do not expect any mercy from the Ebon Blade, least of all me."

And he departed, leaving Vaedra alone with her thoughts.

It was strange, he had seen her as a friend? She supposed there were scant few who had treated him with an ounce of respect, let alone civility. She swallowed hard.

Climbing shakily to her feet, she tested the length of her restraints, seeing how far they allowed her to move. The back of her head ached horribly, dizziness washed over her as she stood up straight. She couldn't remember what had happened exactly, surely Marcus hadn't bested her somehow, unless he had an ally that she hadn't seen before she moved in...

It didn't really matter, however, she was worse off than she'd originally thought. The Shadow Vault was not some shoddily-guarded keep with only a few inept soldiers to stand in her way, the place was practically a fortress, and brimming with death knights.

Leaning back heavily against the wall, the rogue examined her bindings. Perhaps with a bit of time she'd be able to...

The creak of the door interrupted her musings, the swaggering form of Marcus entering the room had her immediately on edge. Trying to look weak she allowed her body to slump against the stone, hoping that maybe he would be cocky enough to come close and allow her a chance to subdue him.

"Hello, _Sylvia_..." he began, grinning snidely. The heavy door banged to a close.

"Marcus." She greeted distastefully.

"A very interesting turn of events if I do say so myself..." his words dripping with oil.

"Quite so..." the rogue agreed, finding it not so difficult to sound weak with the severe pounding in her temples. She noticed that he'd taken the liberty of removing his armor; he strode a bit closer.

"What a fine mess you've gotten yourself into, girly. I knew there was something, oh, _different_, about you when we first met at Wintergarde Keep. Maybe even then I could smell the stench of the undead on you," his lip curled.

Vaedra gritted her teeth against the pain, speaking slowly. "And how was it exactly that you were so lucky as to escape the misfortune that befell the Keep?"

He snickered, "Paladin intuition maybe? I was called away the night before, my poor fallen Commander sent me on a mission to Crusader's Pinnacle to offer my services, Light bless him..." he said mockingly.

The rogue raised a brow, "So you serve the Argent Crusade?" She didn't believe it.

He threw his head back and laughed, a hint of hysteria present. Once he calmed himself he looked her over, a purely superior look on his face. "Stupid bitch, I'd never throw myself in with that lot. I'm with the Brotherhood of the Light. The Highlord..." his lips twisted in disgust, "... is not especially fond of our methods."

She wracked her brain, trying to place the faction name, surely they must have been rather obscure because she could not recall encountering them before.

"Brotherhood of the Light?" She asked dumbly. Light, her head ached.

"Aye," he began, a hint of fervor entering his eyes. "Not many have heard of us, but I believe Korfax described us best when he said, 'We are all members of the Argent Dawn at the core... members of the Argent Dawn that aren't held in check by morals, guilt and useless human emotion. Consider us Scarlet Crusade minus the stupidity, lack of leadership and blind zealotry.' Though these days it seems even old Korfax has grown soft, he's joined Fordring's Argent Crusade as well..." Marcus spat.

"We're here to serve as a stabilizer between the 'pure and justice-filled' paladins and the 'blind rage and revenge-driven' death knights, just to make sure everyone's got their head on straight." He eyed the rogue warily, drawing a few steps closer, "Surely an agent of the Scourge would know that already though, hmm?"

Vaedra kept her eyes low, watching his feet as he stalked towards her. A few more steps and she might be able to get her knee up high enough...

"So, girly. How's this going to go? I think it would be best for everyone if you just accepted that as a paladin of the Light, it's my duty to dole out judgment as I see fit to those that dare oppose it," he recited tauntingly, taking another step forward, lip upturning into a sardonic smirk.

The rogue groaned in pain, most of it didn't have to be forced though; she hoped she might catch him with his guard down.

"Though, its definitely not as much fun for me if you don't put up any fight..." He reached out to grab her shoulder.

Throwing all of her strength into it, Vaedra moved to bring her knee up and into the man's groin, but he was already expecting that move from her. Twisting out of the way at the last moment his fist struck her hard across the jaw, making her already throbbing head blacken momentarily. While she was disoriented he brought his own knee up and into her gut, doubling the rogue over in pain and sending her to the floor.

Marcus laughed at her feeble attempt, his calloused hand reaching down to grab at her hair.

"Bitch," he snickered, "you didn't think I was going to let you catch me off guard like the last time, hmm? Now I've got you down on your knees, where you belong." Her wrenched her head brutally to the side to face his crotch.

"Now," he began to unfasten his belt with his free hand, "I'll show you exactly how the Brotherhood treats a Scourge-loving whore such as yourself. I think Fordring might warm up to some of our ideas if he'd only loosen up long enough for you to get your mouth around his--"

Vaedra shrieked, kicking her feet out and sweeping Marcus' legs out from beneath him. He landed with a thud on top of her as she tried to wriggle away from his grasp.

Her face squashed up against the floor, she managed to grit out, "Try anything like that and I can't be responsible for any reflexive biting action that might occur..." He twisted so that his weight was forcing her to lay flat against the stony ground, elbows digging into her shoulder blades.

"Oh yeah? You think you're clever, huh. Well, we'll see how smart you feel once I start fucking your tight, little--"

A sharp knock sounded at the cell door.

"Shit," he muttered, turning his head to call out angrily, "Beat it! This prisoner's taken buddy, get your own!" Bringing his face back close to Vaedra's ear she felt the stubble of his chin scraping against her cheek, tongue slithering from his mouth to leave a slimy trail across her jaw; she tried not to shudder.

"Now then, girly, you're going to play nice, otherwise..." his hand began climbing between her thighs.

Marcus grunted suddenly, before his form went limp, and the rogue was left with nothing but the uncomfortable feel of his heavy body sprawled across her back.

* * *

_Author's Note: I've been updating pretty quickly, you guys /heart__ me right? ;) Finally let my husband read the story and now he's prodding me to keep writing, hehe. As always the reviews are greatly appreciated, if you are so inclined toss me a quick line if you like what you see!_


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Vaedra shifted to slide the dead weight off her back; a masculine hand reached down to the rogue to help her to her feet. She reluctantly accepted it, rising dizzily to find herself face to face with a smiling young man. She didn't recognize him, but something about his demeanor, the way he held himself, told her enough to know that she might be able to trust him, at least compared to the man now lying face down on the floor.

"Didn't expect to find you here," he chuckled lightly, seeming to know her at least.

She eyed him warily, he certainly wasn't a death knight. But the strength in his grip, the lightly-muscled lithe form, dagger on his hip, the way his eyes quickly perused her person, they all spoke of assassin's training, which could either be a good thing, or a very bad thing...

"I didn't catch your name..." she asked boldly, gripping his hand strongly in return.

He grinned a bit wider, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Vaedra. I'm Calren," tilting his head slightly in acknowledgment. The man's black hair was pulled back away from his face, his smile was warm but the brown eyes were impassive and cool. They shook briefly before the woman carefully withdrew her hand.

"You know me?"

"Of course! The Stormwind Assassin's won't let one of their own fall so easily if it can be helped."

Vaedra pondered this a moment. He took her silence for confusion and continued. "We've been working with the Ebon Blade for some months now, but it was only recently when Master Shaw showed up that we were informed about your... situation."

She tried not to gape, "Mathias? He's here in Northrend?"

Calren nodded, "Why yes, in fact he's--"

"No wait, stop. Don't tell me anything." Vaedra quickly interrupted him.

The young man looked perplexed. "Our friend here won't be waking up for a while, I assure you," he gestured to the unconscious Marcus. "It is quite safe, the room is secure and I think--"

"No!" She held up her hands. "You don't understand, you mustn't say anything around me, it could put you all at risk."

Calren looked at her strangely, clearly not following, but conceding to the rogue's odd request.

"All right, well..." he began slowly, "I'm going to help you get out of here, and then we can meet with the others to discuss exactly what's been going on. I know Mathias has some questions."

Vaedra gave a slight nod, lifting her wrists to indicate the cuffs that still encircled them. The man fished a thin, metal tool from his pocket and swiftly picked the lock, moving then to free her ankles. Once she was unbound, Vaedra lifted a length of the chain and moved over to Marcus' slumped form.

"What are you doing?" Calren hissed, grabbing her shoulder. "We haven't much time, the Ebon Blade will soon grow suspicious."

She sloughed off his hand, chain coming around Marcus' throat, eager to be rid of the nuisance that the man had become.

"He knows too much, he needs to be eliminated," she remarked stoically.

"We have no time!" Calren reached for the rogue's arms to stop her. "And we need him alive so we'll have an explanation for your escape, we cannot risk exposing the Assassins, already we're doing so much to help you!"

This earned him an icy glare from the woman; she slowly conceded and moved to stand, but not before giving Marcus a swift kick in the ribs. As much as it left a foul taste in her mouth she knew what he said made sense. If the two factions were indeed working together it would be seen as a betrayal if the Ebon Blade knew that the Assassins were secretly helping her as well. Damn politics...

Quickly departing the room together, Vaedra seized her belongings and tucked them under her arm. The hall was empty save for a few shadows here and there that appeared just a bit too long...

Following behind Calren, she whispered, "Where are we going?"

"We have a meeting place outside the Vault, on one of the overlooks."

"And my drake?" She asked hopefully.

"In the stables, Marcus rode it in."

Vaedra nodded, as he led on to a series of metal rungs in the wall leading upward, seemingly to the roof the Vault.

Calren turned and began to climb, "This will take us out to the overlooks of the Vault, I know Mathias will be pleased to find--" the pommel of a sword struck the man in the head, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Vaedra shrugged apologetically, grabbing the man under his arms to drag him into a dark corner. Quickly searching his person she found a few gold coins, some extra throwing daggers... and a small cloth bag tied with a leather strap.

Her hand flew to her throat, having forgotten about the orb after her capture, she hadn't even realized it was missing. Peering inside revealed that it was in tact; she wrapped the cord tightly around the top and pocketed the bag.

Hastily donning her armor and securing the swords at her sides, the rogue scaled the ladder, pushing the hatch at the top open as silently as she could. Frigid air swept across her cheeks, black clouds of the night sky reached outward as she emerged onto the roof of the structure that lie just south of the Shadow Vault; thankfully no one else was yet in sight.

A wave of dizziness washed over her as she began to scale the rocky outcropping down towards the stables, not yet recovered from her blow to the head. A few stray rocks crumbled under her boots as she briefly lost her footing; Vaedra caught herself and stood still, holding her breath. The camp below seemed undisturbed, however; she continued her trek downward.

Approaching the stables, the rogue climbed in through a window; a single death knight that appeared to have been a blood elf in life sat lazily sharpening her sword. A moment later, Vaedra was dragging her unconscious form into a vacant stall within the stable, and quietly approaching her onyx drake, whispering soothing words. Climbing atop her a mount, a feral roar sounded from the front of the structure. A colossal, undead bear barreled towards her looking more than a little angry.

The drake reared up, whining in fear; Vaedra urged it forward, pulling one sword from its sheath. The bear charged, massive paws rising up to swipe at the passing woman, maw looking to snap her arm clean from her torso. The rogue left a vicious slice across the beast's snout saving herself from a nasty bite, but not before its claws ripped into her forearm, tearing away leather and flesh like it was nothing.

Yelling in pain, she continued forward, crashing through the stable entrance and kicking her drake to take to the sky. Shouts erupted from the camp outside of the Vault, she could hear the hum of arrows whipping past her ears as she flew.

Cradling her wounded arm, the rogue slumped forward on her mount, weary and bloodied.

-

Returning to Icecrown Citadel had Vaedra wondering how exactly the Lich King would respond to her absence. In actuality it had only been a few hours, hardly long enough to elicit any real kind of concern, not that he would be worried for her safety anyway, but she had been captured...

Truthfully she had revealed almost nothing about herself, but now that she was free she began to consider the implications of what the Ebon Blade had likely learned about her despite her tight lip. Thassarian knew her name and her face, and now they all knew that she was doing the Lich King's biding. If the Stormwind Assassins, including Mathias Shaw, were indeed present in Northrend, then they would likely soon know as well.

What did that mean for her? Would Mathias discover the truth and abandon his foolhardy mission of trying to rescue her from an enemy that held no boundaries? Or would he press on, out of some warped sense of roguish obligation, determined to find a way to rid her of his grasp? If they had allied with the Ebon Blade in a mutual effort to bring down the Scourge, however, anything they did in Vaedra's defense would have to be kept secretive. Though, considering some of what often went on right beneath the King of Stormwind's nose made the rogue certain that it wouldn't be especially difficult for them.

Surely all of this was trivial though regarding the Lich King's plans, what would it matter if they did try to save her? They couldn't possibly have a chance against him, and Vaedra wasn't even sure herself if she wanted their help. Maybe it would be better to just dash their hopes now, let them think she'd willingly joined with the Scourge, it would be the truth, wouldn't it? And it might at least save them from the wrath of a nigh unbeatable foe...

And yet again despite her capture, Marcus had still escaped unscathed, leaving the rogue to wonder if perhaps she was losing her touch, if she could not even be rid of someone as vile and inept as him...

As she drew nearer, he called for her, those rumbling tones lapping at her consciousness, lulling her from her state of half-awareness.

_Come to me..._

It was almost soothing.

_Come to me..._

Descending into the glacier, and limping her way to the Lich King and his hypnotic voice, Vaedra finally pushed open the heavy metal doors to his throne room, leaning heavily upon the massive handle.

He sat there, looking at her blankly, his face a cool mask. He beckoned her forth with one slightly bent finger.

The rogue hobbled a few steps forward before she fell to her knees, though it had nothing to do with subservience. Clutching the tear in her arm, blood slowly oozed from between her fingers, dark hair that had long since come loose fanning over her lowered face.

"I am very..." he began thoughtfully, "...disappointed."

There was that calmness again, eerily threatening, but Vaedra tried to reassure herself that lately his threats had been idle, just words to frighten her into obedience. He hadn't harmed her because it was not in his interests to do so, she was crucial in his plans. Plus, she still held the orb.

"...very disappointed." He reiterated, she could feel his gaze boring into her.

The rogue knew she had erred, running off, getting captured, and not even successfully killing the man she had set out to... at first she expected little more than a thorough tongue-lashing and a heavy share of insults at her ignorance, but looking at him now revealed the murderous gleam that shone in his luminescent depths.

"You could have, ruined... _everything_." He hissed suddenly, eyes blazing.

Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears, arm throbbing, muscles tensing...

"My actions were--"

"Don't speak!" He fumed, nostrils flaring. He leaned forward slightly in his chair.

"Everything that I've been working towards could have been gone in a moment with your carelessness, you truly think I'd let you off with a slap on the wrist? You know _nothing_..." the last word sizzled harshly like the sudden cooling of hot metal.

There was no smirk, no evil smile, no wicked grin... only pure hatred evident in his face. Her stomach turned.

Slowly revealing what lie in his folded hands, Vaedra's eyes widened, incredulous.

"You truly are a fool," he held the violet orb delicately between his fingers. "Do not look so surprised... you think yourself betrayed? What about _me_, what about how you've disobeyed _me_... You wish me to trust you? You selflessly seek to 'save' me, save that wretched heart, and then you do this. What reason would I ever have to trust you, when all you've shown me is treachery..."

No, his words were poison... she mustn't believe that he could really have trusted her in time, that certainly couldn't be true. All his civil words, those fleeting moments of unseen tenderness, it was just more trickery... The useless orb he had given her felt heavy in her pocket.

"You've given me no other choice, you deserve this."

The rogue panicked, "I have done everything you've asked--"

He growled, fist closing to clench brutally around the precious, purple sphere.

Vaedra shrieked in agony. She had felt the torture before but it did nothing to prepare her for the gut-wrenching sharpness that cut through her body. Fire licked every nerve, knives sliced through her skin. She fell to the ground, writhing convulsively, her limbs flailed uselessly searching for something to cling to, her back arching off the floor.

_You deserve this, your punishment is just..._

The seconds crept by, longer and longer he held her there, the torment only increasing as he squeezed, her anguished screams only fueling his ire. A minute passed, but for Vaedra it was endless, time meant nothing. Blessed darkness began to seep into her vision, and it was only then that the suffering ceased.

She could not hold back the sobs that wracked through her as she rolled onto her stomach, blood dripping from her nose. She vomited, barely able to turn her face away so as not to lie in her own filth.

_This is for your own good, tell me you deserve it... _

"No," she whispered hoarsely, throat dry from her uncontrolled wailing. Her torn arm burned, the pounding in her head made it difficult to think.

"What would you do to ensure that you didn't have to feel that again?" He taunted, flicking the orb languidly.

It was difficult to be defiant in a moment such as that, surely it would be so much easier to just agree, believe whatever he wanted to make sure that the pain ended.

"Have you suffered enough?" He sneered.

Undoubtedly a trick question... the rogue groaned in response.

"Well?!" He demanded angrily.

She didn't know what answer would appease him more before she sputtered out a pitiful, "Yes..."

Finally, the telltale smirk came, but she did not see it.

"I am not so certain..."

Vaedra heard him rise from his chair. A bizarre thought gripped her then, surely more of Arthas existed than the Lich King let on if he was so vain as to sit on a throne every day. What other vanity would show through, despite his best efforts to seem uncaring of mortal concerns...

"Come over here." He commanded apathetically.

She lay there a long moment, legs refusing to respond.

"My legs... I can't..." she hated how she whimpered it out.

"Then crawl."

The bitterness in his words was obvious, but that amusement he seemed to derive from watching her suffering was not lost on her either.

Tucking her injured arm beneath her, Vaedra used her free hand to reach out and slowly pull herself along, leaving a crimson trail smeared across the cold floor behind her. Each agonizing movement made her grit her teeth to suppress the miserable cries that threatened to escape.

Arriving before him, she collapsed, feeling utterly defeated and weak, the toes of his metal boots the only sight to greet her.

He leaned over to grasp some of her hair, not wrenching like he had done before, but more slow and deliberate, lifting so that she might balance precariously on her knees.

"What would be a fitting punishment," he pondered aloud, obviously having something already in mind; the woman was unable to stifle her shaking. The thumb of his glove shifted to sweep some of the matted hair away from her forehead.

"Please..." she whispered, having no strength left to fight.

"Please, what?" He mocked in response. Was he asking what she was begging for or prompting her to use his 'proper' title?

She swallowed hard. She wanted so much to resist, to believe that she had a resilient inner will... but she knew that she was cowardly, she would do anything he asked of her if only it meant that she would be free of this torment...

"Please, Master, I--"

"Calm yourself," he murmured, free hand coming up to stroke her neck as though she were a beloved pet. The action was pure venom, taunting.

"It is not nearly so bad as that," he chuckled, considering. "You betrayed me, didn't you?"

"No!" She rasped emphatically, "I only wished to--"

"Didn't you?!" He roared, shaking her battered form.

Nausea bubbled through her stomach again, though she wasn't quite sure if it was from the pain or at herself for being ready to admit to whatever he wanted.

"Yes," she replied meekly, eyes cast downward.

"So you deserve to be punished then," the fingers traced the line of her jaw.

Vaedra almost would have preferred death over this humiliation, forced to swallow her pride and admit defeat, it was more than demoralizing... it was shattering.

The rogue let out a haggard cough, "Yes."

"Would it be a fitting discipline then to remind you of your own pathetic, human weakness? To show you who you didn't think twice about crossing, for you to see exactly what would have happened to you because of your impetuousness had it not been for your timely rescue?"

Slightly confused by his words, she thought back to her brief imprisonment, to Marcus' violent restraint and forcing her to face him on her knees... Turning back to her current position she realized just how closely she was kneeling to the Lich King now, his icy glove against her cheeks, and what exactly he was implying...

"But... no!" Eyes widening in realization; she would have recoiled if there had been any strength left in her limbs.

He laughed cruelly, pulling her closer so that her shoulder rest again his armored thigh.

"You want to please your Master though, don't you?" He purred, it was an odd sound to hear coming from him, hand running through her hair.

She couldn't move, couldn't struggle. Why would he even suggest such a thing, surely he wouldn't enjoy it... though maybe it wasn't about the physical pleasure, instead just another way that he could remind her that he was the one in control, that all of her belonged to him...

"Ahh, but what if it was Arthas making this request? Would you oblige him then?" His rumbling voice echoed in the frosty chamber, mocking.

She grimaced at his words, not wanting to think about what her response would really be to that question.

"Certainly the Lich King does not care about such things, but Arthas might... he is just a man after all," he grinned wickedly.

"I thought..." Vaedra could not control the wavering in her voice, "... I thought you said that there was nothing left to redeem. That Arthas could no longer be saved." Was he referring to himself in the third person to confuse her?

"Oh but you misunderstand," he chuckled. "Just because he cannot be saved does not mean that he is gone... it only means that your former Prince does not _wish _to be. And along with his desire for power come his other mortal desires as well..." he pulled her closer to emphasize his point.

She tried to turn her face away but his grip on her hair was firm.

"Don't you wish to please your Prince? Would you really turn him away if he asked this of you?" Gloved finger traced a delicate pattern against her cheek.

It reminded her of that first dream that he had influenced, the dream of Stratholme where the young Prince Arthas had pulled her aside and gently caressed her face before kissing her passionately. It had only been a dream, but had it been real... no, she couldn't think like that. It hadn't been real, the scenario completely imaginary, so how could she logically place herself in that position of wanting her to please him in that way if there was no chance of it ever happening...

"No, I... I wouldn't do it."

His laughter was maniacal. "You cannot lie to me! Go ahead and admit it, it might makes things easier..."

"No!" She nearly sobbed, feeling desperately weak and vulnerable.

"Now, now," he soothingly jeered. "There is no reason to try and fool yourself. We both already know that you've reveled in my touch... and his. Just imagine that it is him, and I'm sure that you'll enjoy it more. You're good at pretending that it's him, remember?"

… _backing her up slowly he leaned her against a nearby tree, pressing his armored body into hers._

"Don't you see? This really isn't a punishment at all, isn't that right? This would make you happy, no, _honored, _to have the chance to satisfy your Prince... your King."

She closed her eyes, knees feeling cold. She didn't want to look at his blackened chain armor or the grinning skull plates that were so close to her face. Was Arthas truly gone in his entirety, was the Lich King just saying all of this to play with her fragile sensibilities? The heart yet remained, surely an ounce of the man did as well... Vaedra didn't know what to believe, but considering her state it was difficult to care. Horrified with herself, she realized that just by asking herself those questions, wondering if indeed Arthas still existed, that she was admitting that maybe it wouldn't be so horrendous to agree with him, that perhaps it was almost forgivable that he couldn't control himself...

The chilled gloves continued to brush across her face, leaving a tingling path behind wherever they roamed.

"Ahh, there it is," he murmured darkly after a moment. "It feels good to just admit it, doesn't it? Go ahead, you can say it..."

Not only did she hear him say this, she could feel it, echoes reverberating in her mind, radiating outward through her torn and broken body, gently coaxing the desired response...

Before the stammered reply could leave her lips, Vaedra swooned, feeling light-headed. Though normally not one to be faint of heart, the combined efforts of the loss of the blood, soul-wrenching torture and emotional trauma had her head falling back in dizziness.

Blackness crept into her sight, a coldness seeped outward from her chest, and that evil, rumbling laughter was the last thing she heard before she felt nothing at all.

* * *

_Author's Note: Ding ding ding! Random Fanfic Reader #8636290, we have a winner! You get a gold star ;) Hehe, thank you for all the reviews! Things are certainly starting to look bleak for poor Vaedra, tune in next time... okay, shutting up._


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

_This was a dream..._

Vaedra was back in her cell. It was cold.

She stood alone in the center. She looked down at her arm, smoothing her fingers against the taut flesh. Had he healed her?

Everything in her room had been removed, all the books, trinkets... anything that she could connect with the outside world. Everything she needed was right here. Just four walls, a low ceiling, and the stony floor beneath her feet.

She wished he hadn't locked her in again. Maybe if she told him she'd be a good girl he'd let her out...

_No, this is a dream. _

The woman standing in the middle of the room looked lost, clutching her previously wounded arm like a child. Taking tentative steps forward, she approached the metal bars of the cell door, hands coming up to gently encircle them.

She looked outward, eyes wide. There was only blackness.

"Hello?" She whispered.

_You can wake up._

The woman shivered, pulling her hands away to cross her arms across her chest, letting her forehead slowly slide forward to rest between the bars.

Surely he couldn't leave her in here forever, what of her missions? His plans? He had been so angry, had he decided that she was no longer useful, no longer worth the trouble...

That possibility worried her.

If she had nothing to focus on, nothing to think about, nothing to... _distract _her, surely her flighty thoughts would wander to places that she'd rather not go.

She felt a tear slide down her cheek.

She was special, he had selected her out of all the other 'heroes' of Northrend, all those adventurers that had come looking for glory, honor, wealth, or just to serve the greater good by fighting against what they believed to be evil. Had he picked her because she cared for none of those things? Was her neutrality what made her useful, her willingness to do whatever was necessary to survive? Funny that, Arthas had done what he believed was _necessary _to save his people and exact revenge on the demons that had wronged him. But where his need for vengeance was fueled by intense passion, her nature was icy and impassive... maybe he liked that.

Or at least he had. For here she was now, locked away in a cage like a pitiful nuisance, unable to escape the nagging questions that had plagued her ever since she had been dragged before his domineering throne.

_You need to wake up, this is a dream. _

Did he not need her anymore? Had she lost her chance at immortality? Perhaps she had gotten too close for his liking, maybe she had unlocked things in him that he would rather not think about, was that even possible? And his immediate response was violence, control, and to ignore the very thing that had elicited such feelings and questions from him in the first place. Perhaps...

The rogue sighed deeply, looking out into the blackness that lie beyond her cell. It was so thick she was afraid her arm might disappear should she let it drape beyond the confines of the bars. She squinted, searching for any sign of life... She might have chuckled at that thought if she hadn't felt so alone and despondent in that moment.

Thinking that she was hallucinating, she lifted her head slightly to gaze out into the dark at the two glowing blue spots that seemed like they could have been miles away. They flickered and danced, and slowly drew closer to the woman peering outward, her eyes fixed.

_Please, you must awaken._

She expected more to appear as the icy blue beacons approached, something to indicate their origin or intent, but there was nothing. They paused before her cage, looking very much like soft, quivering candlelight though they cast little illumination.

The woman gazed up at them, feeling intrigued but inexplicably frightened. Was she to be judged? Surely there was something she could do to redeem herself in his eyes, if only he'd let her show her loyalty, her willingness...

The disembodied orbs winked out, and the rogue found herself searching wide-eyed in the darkness for even the smallest sign of their return.

"No..." she whispered, her heart sinking. "Please come back!" She called, fiercely grasping the cool metal bars.

A man's hand emerged from between the cracks, making her draw back, startled. It looked large and strong, the flesh pale and smooth. It extended it's palm outward in an inviting gesture.

_No! Wake up now!_

There appeared to be nothing connected to the man's arm that reached through the bars, the darkness shrouding across the forearm and beyond. It maintained it's beckoning outreach, fingers slightly curved.

A man's voice sounded then, soft tones gently murmuring her name.

"Vaedra..."

It stirred a memory of a dream, Prince Arthas trying out her name for the first time, gently breathing as he took in the sight of her unmasked face. But that had just been a dream, and this was...

"Let me lead you..." the voice spoke again, more coaxing than before. The words were soothing, though encompassed by a sharp, hard exterior.

Was he giving her another chance? She felt elated, hands rising to rest against her chest as to still her pounding heart. She looked at the hand longingly, wanting more than anything to take it and let it bring her clarity, away from the stifling confines of her own consciousness... Her arm slowly extended outward.

_Don't let him take you from here! There is no return! Wake up, damn it!_

The nagging feeling of something amiss kept the woman's hand suspended in place, not quite touching, just out of reach of the enticing grip.

"Take my hand!" The man's voice grew more insistent. "I'll show you a level a lucidity that you can't even imagine... that is the point isn't it? I will _free you_..."

His words were liquid and smooth, lapping across her thoughts like a gentle current. Why shouldn't she listen? This was her chance to show him that she wasn't afraid to embrace his darkness, that she could do whatever was necessary. And maybe, just a little... to show him that he could embrace his humanity, use it to make him even stronger.

The pads of the woman's fingertips lightly brushed against those of the mans...

_No!_

Something strong grasped her shoulder suddenly, yanking her back away from the hand, and into reality...

-

A small pool of blood had coalesced around the rogue as she lay collapsed on the cold stone; the jagged tears in her forearm were deeper than she'd originally thought. She was in a heap before his throne, left there to wallow in her own filth and shame. The chamber was silent and Vaedra's limbs refused to respond.

Had he departed, waiting for her to die? Or had he seen her tortured dream only to return later to mock her feelings of self-doubt so they could begin the cycle over again... Already the nightmare was beginning to fade, only scattered fragments littered her mind, leaving her unsure as to what exactly he'd been trying to achieve.

A vice-like grip seized her injured arm suddenly, hauling Vaedra to her feet. She cried out as pain shot through her, hissing as she was forcefully spun to face the Lich King. He looked at her calmly, all traces of anger gone from his visage; his fingers coiled and dug into the wound.

She felt nausea again in her stomach, her eyes threatened to darken once more.

"Hold still." He commanded impassively, cerulean eyes turning away from her blood-caked face and down to the pale arm in his grasp.

He whispered a few incomprehensible words, low and murmuring, and from the sudden burst of sharpness that coursed through her, Vaedra wondered if he had decided to torture her again after all.

The rogue could not but help to cry out, immediately itching to tear her arm away, but the growl he emitted and strength of his hands kept her still, if it was possible they seemed to grow even colder. Her entire limb burned horribly, the damaged muscles twitched and convulsed, skin crawled and stretched. Was this some dark form of healing?

No, this was not healing, this was... reconstruction. It required a callous word such as that to describe what he did to her. With the Light, it was warm and soothing, as though an angel reached out and stroked one's tattered flesh with pure good itself, leaving only the tender and pink healed skin behind; a feeling of peace. But this...

Her gut lurched at the thought of him using his powers of undeath to mend her, was this what it was like? Their mangled corpses twisting and bending into the hideous forms that he desired, turning once vital and spirited mortals into his unswerving minions... Till now she had been mostly detached from that aspect of her captivity, only seeing its effects from afar. But now to experience it first hand, knowing what he poured into her arm now was the same evil energy that made those corpses rise and obey...

Vaedra grit her teeth as the flesh was painfully knit back together, quickly swallowing the bile that rose in her throat. It continued to throb long after the unpleasant crawling ceased, but he still clutched her arm, watching intently.

After the pain began to wane, she mustered the will to look at the wound. The skin surrounding the tears was an angry red, and the lines themselves were ugly and black. The veins of her arm showed prominently against the white skin, elevated and pulsing furiously. While the gashes had been closed and no longer oozed blood, Vaedra suspected that she would bear these marks of her necromantic 'healing' for the rest of her days.

Once satisfied that her injury was repaired, the Lich King released Vaedra from his grip and turned away, his cloak fluttering slightly from the abruptness. She noticed his eyebrows had been slightly furrowed, had that been regret in his eyes? Could it be that he had punished her because he had felt that he needed to, not because it was what he wanted?

Vaedra mentally slapped herself; her compassion was damning. She had to stop caring, stop wondering if those fleeting glances spoke of his own inner turmoil, stop thinking that perhaps he needed her in some twisted way...

She glanced up at his turned form coldly. She wouldn't thank him.

"What now?" The rogue asked rather flatly. Apparently she was still useful somehow.

He peered over his shoulder, brow raised harshly. "Now, _rogue, _you will finish what it is we've started."

Oh she had been so close. Her will was strong, but the temptation he offered after weeks and weeks of relentless invasion, the blissful freedom of being allowed to let it all slip away and into his protective grasp was nearing overwhelming. He knew in the beginning that it would take time, but their endeavors had continuously been successful in that time as well, and now, she was nearly broken. He suspected that once she returned from the final tasks he'd charge her with, there would need to be one last push... something that would _require _her to finally yield, something she would not be able to live with herself for... in her current state anyway. The thrill of success would certainly overshadow his disgust of the pathetic, mortal means of persuasion he knew he'd have to enlist.

She put on a convincing mask now, but he knew the truth.

"And what would that be, Master?"

The Lich King's lips curled into a malicious smirk. "We've started a great many things," he murmured enigmatically. "But, in this instance I am referring to the elimination of one of my more inconvenient obstacles. I need you to... retrieve some things for me."

Vaedra wondered which obstacle he was referring to exactly...

"Uther the Lightbringer," he spat distastefully. The rogue arched one brow.

He continued, "A tomb was erected in his honor after his untimely death," his mouth widened into a bit of a grin. "It resides in the plaguelands. At this monument is a metal plaque that briefly details his life and demise; you will take it."

Vaedra's face twisted in confusion; she couldn't help but be interested. "I don't understand, what purpose will that serve? And what obstacle--"

He continued on, ignoring her questions. "Next, you will travel to Theramore. Their leader, a sorceress, possesses--"

"Lady Jaina Proudmoore?" Vaedra interrupted suddenly, though wishing she hadn't as he shot her a harsh glare. As the moment wore on, however, she noticed that his flickering, blue eyes softened, and took on a more faraway gleam.

_That's right, supposedly Arthas and Jaina had once been lovers..._

The rogue's face grew hot, a twinge of jealously ran through her. Light, she needed to get a hold of herself. That had been years ago... and what did she even care? She wasn't here as his companion, or even a friend, she was a slave. But she couldn't quite shake off the almost gentle look in his eyes before he suddenly blinked and it was lost.

"Yes," the sharp word pierced the silence. Sneering, "Now hold your tongue and let me finish, unless you wish me to rid you of that cumbersome affliction..."

Vaedra's lips tightened, her eyes lowered.

The Lich King continued, "The sorceress possesses a staff of great power. Atop the staff rests a large blue gem, a focusing crystal. You will procure it from her."

The rogue wanted to ask how exactly she was supposed to infiltrate the leader of Theramore's tower and steal an object in the personal possession of one of the most powerful mages on Azeroth, but she supposed her protests of these 'minor' inconveniences would fall on deaf ears.

"I can send you to the plaguelands from here. Once you have the tablet you will have to secure passage across the ocean to Kalimdor to retrieve the gem. After you've collected them both..." he turned to face her, holding a small, shiny object out toward the rogue, "...you may use this to return here. It will place you outside the entrance to Angrathar the Wrathgate so that you might travel to obtain the final item."

He pressed an unremarkable silver ring into the palm of Vaedra's hand, holding her gaze a moment before he quickly withdrew his arm.

"The cave where Frostmourne rested until Arthas came to claim it as his own, do you know of it?"

She nodded, curling her fingers around the slender ring. What could he possibly need these things for?

"Your Prince heard the call of the Lich King and came to secure the sword to aid in the defense of his people, such a _noble _cause, don't you think?" He grinned slyly. "When he took up the runeblade, he discarded his paladin hammer, lost and forgotten. It was as though he was leaving his old life behind and accepting the new fate set before him, a rite of passage if you will." He laughed, but never let his eyes leave the rogue's face.

"The revenants still protect that cave, admitting entrance to no one, to those that would dare disturb the dark memories of a place best forgotten. But you, my dear, will enter the cave, and retrieve that hammer."

Vaedra waited to make sure that he was finished, her hands clasped in front of her. Cautiously she spoke, "If Arthas has left that life behind completely, than why do you wish to have the hammer back?"

He eyed her condescendingly, as though he was entertaining a child's unceasing questions. "I did not think that it was your place to boldly question my intentions, as you've learned before. It has been obvious that I cannot trust you, I don't know that I'll ever be able to..."

"I only wish to serve you better, Master. If I were to know more about these items and what use that they will be put to perhaps--"

He silenced her with a scowl and quick wave of his hand. His tone was harsh, "Do not try to disguise your curiosity with acquiescence, with a feigned willingness to please. Your obvious transparency is rather disappointing, I must say." The glittering anger in his swirling depths turned more thoughtful after a moment of regarding her.

"Do not return until you have obtained all three of the items," he began again, bringing his gloved hand to rest against his chin speculatively. "However, once you do... well, we have a great deal to discuss.. I will tell you everything you wish to know about them, about what I plan to do. Is that satisfactory?"

Vaedra tilted her head slightly, cautious of his sudden generosity to disclose information. Though on more than one occasion he had indulged her questions, perhaps he wished to strengthen the appearance that they were once again building trust?

After considering, the rogue nodded, keeping her face devoid of emotion. She would not show appreciation, she would not show any more vulnerability, she couldn't let him strike any more chords in her fragile heart...

"I am still rather weak, Master. Might I take the night to rest so that I might be more effective when--"

His scowl deepened, and he hastily waved her away yet again.

"Fine fine, but I expect you to be gone by morning. Do not come back until you have everything." He let the unspoken threat hang heavily in the air as the seemingly impassive woman bowed and withdrew.

_Soon..._

-

"I know she would never admit it, but I think she may be frightened."

Calren rubbed the developing welt on the back of his head, wincing slightly. "She seemed bloody fine to me..." he grumbled.

Mathias Shaw smiled at the young man warmly, offering a reassuring clap on the shoulder.

The two men talked quietly in a darkened corner of the Shadow Vault. After Vaedra's escape, Marcus had emerged from the dungeons into the main building, looking more than slightly disoriented. When he was approached by Thassarian shortly thereafter, the rogues couldn't resist 'overhearing' Marcus' attempts to explain how exactly he'd allowed their prisoner to escape. The death knight's eyes looked murderous, and the rogues couldn't suppress a light chuckle as they listened to him threaten to strangle the paladin with his own entrails.

"Even amongst the Assassins, a collection of loners, she still must always strike out on her own. Fix her own problems... I don't know whether to call it determination or obstinance," Mathias grinned wryly.

Calren sighed, "No disrespect intended, Master Shaw, but are you sure you know your pupil as well as you think you do? I don't think we can dismiss the possibility that she is a willing participant, perhaps she does not wish our help. And if that is the case I see little reason to continue--"

"I know," the elder rogue broke in sharply, louder than he intended. Lowering his voice, "When I spoke with her before I got the distinct impression that she had no choice in the matter, that she was being manipulated in some way to do the Scourge's bidding. I very much want to believe that that is the case, though I know we must consider that it might have never been true, or even perhaps that since that day she has changed her tune. Nevertheless, for now we will proceed in a fashion to ensure her safety, and if we later discover her willing involvement, well..." he shook his head. "... we will continue with what we set out to do when we came to Northrend. Battle the Scourge."

Calren bowed his head in acceptance, but the harsh set of his jaw indicated that he clearly disliked the plan.

"Don't look so glum, Cal," Mathias tried to force a cheerful-looking smile. "This isn't just about her, there's much more to it than that. Even if I don't know her character as well as I thought, I do know her skill. And it's nothing to be trifled with. This may turn out to be nothing, a lost soul looking for purpose and guidance in the darkest of places... but if it isn't..." he let the thought go unfinished so that the young man might mull over the potential dangers.

"Now then," his tone became business-like after a moment. "Were you able to search her belongings?"

The younger rogue nodded, his face grim. "I couldn't find anything to indicate one way or another. The only item of interest was a bag she kept around her neck, it had some kind of jewel or stone inside. I was going to show it to you after you'd gotten a chance to talk to her but well..." he gingerly touched the bump on his head, looking embarrassed and annoyed.

Mathias thoughtfully stroked his thin mustache. After a time he sighed, he'd certainly taught her well; they knew almost nothing more than when they had started.

The men parted ways, with assurances from the elder that they would speak more later.

Mathias strode casually from their corner, his gait absent-minded. He wasn't sure which idea chilled him more. The possibility of a dangerous rogue finding reason enough to willingly join the Scourge or the Lich King developing a way to control even someone as cunning and disciplined as her and using them against his enemies. Either way...

* * *

_Author's Note: "Would you like to make Icecrown Citadel your new home? Yes?" Hehe, sorry, hearthstones have no place in my story. :P_


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Vaedra took the portal the Lich King offered to her, the last thing she remembered seeing were those blue eyes glittering dangerously, threatening if she were to fail. She braced herself for the drop that she remembered from her previous journey to the Burning Steppes.

Opening her eyes, the rogue found herself in the Eastern Plaguelands, right in the middle of the once prosperous trading town of Corin's Crossing. Still crouched from tumbling to the ground, she quickly pulled her swords, ready to slice into anything that moved. The undead ambling about seemed to ignore her however, as did the Cultists who seemed to merely toss an uninterested glance in her direction before returning to their business.

_How thoughtful... _she thought bitterly.

A light mist of acidic rain sprinkled down upon the dilapidated rooftops, the ever-present stench of undeath that permeated the blight-ravaged land met Vaedra's nose. Looking up at the weathered road signs indicating that Andorhal lie to the west, the rogue rose to her feet.

Beyond the building that once served as an inn, she heard the sounds of a skirmish along the southern outskirts of the town. A woman's voice cried out, a banshee's tormented wail sounded across the wind. Sneaking around behind the inn, Vaedra watched as a female spellcaster faced off against a skeleton and a ghostly apparition, clearly oblivious that just beyond the tavern lay dozens of undead ready to tear her to pieces.

Her back was to the rogue, staff brandished out in front of her. She was clad in simple gray robes, brown hair was piled atop her head in a sloppy bun; the woman called out a few words, a shimmering, transparent bubble appearing around her to protect her from the stabbing claws. Pointing the head of her weapon outward she quickly chanted a spell to draw a column of fire down from the sky and into the body of the banshee; it wailed furiously, returning with a spell of its own to enfeeble the young priest. She seemed to be faring well enough, but Vaedra knew that soon her protective shield would expire, and this girl was obviously no great warrior.

Creeping along, the rogue's attention turned away from the woman and to the agitated chestnut mare tied to a rickety wooden fence. The horse was clearly unhappy to be in the undead-infested town, it's legs shifting uncomfortably, feet dancing lightly across the corrupt soil. Vaedra approached the horse, running a soothing hand down the beast's nose before swiftly slicing through the cord and jumping onto it's back. Lightly digging her heels into the mare's side she took off to the west, the sound of falling hooves enough for the occupied woman to afford a quick glance over her shoulder, eyes widening at the site of a dark figure making off with her horse.

The female priest let out an indignant cry, "You there! Stop!"

Her attention returned to the undead as a vicious swipe came in that would have left mortal gash across her abdomen had it not been for her defensive spell. She squeaked as a ghostly hand reached out to swat at her face as the last of her bubble was absorbed, raising her staff to parry away the claws of the skeleton.

Calling upon her limited knowledge of shadow magic, the woman let out a piercing shriek, designed to cause her enemies to flee in terror. The undead seemed unaffected, however, and her ringing cry only seemed to attract the attention of more banshees that resided inside the abandoned inn.

Several undead began to close in around the young priest, and she could only pray for forgiveness for the one that had left her there alone, and whisper a few final, somber words to the Light.

-

The rogue rode westward, her thoughts wandering as she flew past the dead trees of the decaying wasteland.

Uther's Tomb, a gem from Jaina's staff, the hammer Arthas had used as a paladin... these were all things from his past, things related to people that had defined him and shaped him into the man he was. She had trouble believing that the items themselves had a secret or inherit use to them beyond their normal value, so were they serving a purely symbolic purpose? Whatever he planned to do with them, surely more easily attainable materials could have sufficed...

Or was this just another of his games? Sending her away to retrieve some random items to keep her occupied and out of his hair while he plotted his next move... but why would he do that now? The 7th Legion forces had nearly been extinguished entirely with the fall of Wintergarde Keep, surely whatever this obstacle he spoke of would be preparing for an attack, he might need her. The Argent Crusade's focus had been temporarily relieved by the incident with the heart, but probably not for long...

Vaedra's musings were abruptly cut short as something cold and hard slammed into her shoulder knocking her off the horse and to the ground flat on her back. She let out a cry, the sudden noise and commotion startling the mare which took off at a gallop to the north. Attempting to reach for her weapons, the rogue found her limbs frozen in place, head unable to turn. She heard at least three distinct voices steadily growing closer as she lay there unable to move.

"Who is she?"

"Doesn't matter, I can smell the stench of undeath on her."

"What else would she be doing in these parts?"

"You're right, we'll have to get rid of her."

"Look at those blades, those could earn us a pretty copper."

"Ehh, let's hope she knows how to use them, haven't had a bit of fun in a while, need some good sport."

"Get her!"

No sooner than when the last word was spoken did an arrow come streaking in to embed itself deep into the soft earth directly next to Vaedra's head. Throwing all of her strength in to her arms and legs, the rogue kicked outward, the ice shattering into large pieces around her. Lightning fast her swords appeared in her hands and she was on her feet, just in time to meet a snarling man's mace and shield barreling down on top of her.

Three more sets of eyes were watching her, figures clad in red and white surrounding the rogue as she squared off against the largest of them. Sidestepping his clumsy charge she heard the unmistakable sound of chanting, one voice definitively deeper than the other.

Ducking as the man turned to bring his mace around to strike at her skull, her swords rose to block the large shield he threw outward to knock her off balance. It nearly worked, her arms immediately feeling shaky from the force of the blow. Kicking out, Vaedra's foot connected with the man's kneecap, making him roar in anger and stumble back.

Buying herself a few seconds, the rogue rose and turned, the toe of her boot sliding across the ground to kick up some loose dirt into the face of the male spellcaster. He sputtered and gasped, losing whatever incantation he had been casting. Another arrow flew past, narrowly missing it's mark, but Vaedra hissed in pain as a different spell connected, a surge of holy energy slicing into her. The only female of the group looked at the rogue hatefully, her once-attractive features twisted from years of loathing and madness, her crimson robes matted with stains and riddled with tears.

Her gaze lingered a moment too long, the large man returning with a fierce yell, Vaedra's only warning to bring her right arm up to parry the mace. He grinned at her maliciously, however, as his shield bashed into her left shoulder, instantly numbing her arm, the blade in that hand falling to the ground.

Their weapons locked over their heads, the man moved in close, a victorious grin on his scar-covered face.

"You put up a good enough fight but now--"

He never got to complete his sentence, Vaedra's forehead came smashing forward into the warrior's nose, the cartilage crumpling from the impact, blood immediately beginning to gush down his face. Bellowing in rage, the man shoved the rogue away from him with his shield, mace swinging wildly in front of him. She danced back away from the wide strokes, knowing her strategy needed to change if she was going to have a chance of escaping the encounter alive; the fighter seemed relentless and bloodthirsty, maybe she could use that to her advantage.

She feinted left and instead turned and began to run away from the large man, heading towards the last figure, the man with a bow, arrow nocked and ready to let fly some twenty yards away. Vaedra dodged to the side as the missile was let loose, the head tearing through her leather armor and just brushing against the flesh of her hip. Another jolt of holy energy shot through her, painfully lighting her nerves afire, but at the same time restoring some feeling to her useless arm. She heard the male wizard begin chanting again, finally managing to wipe the dirt from his eyes and continue his casting.

The warrior was right on her heels, mace brandished out to swipe at the rogue if she faltered. Pulling a throwing dagger free from her belt, Vaedra took just a second to shoot it over her shoulder and into the approaching man's thigh, slowly him considerably. She sprinted towards the archer as fast as her legs would carry her, the man fumbling to notch another arrow in place. Seeing that he had no time, he held his wooden bow out in front of him defensively, having no melee weapon within reach.

The rogue's right sword sliced into the shoddy bow, tearing it from the archer's grasp, who brought his fists up, having nothing else left to use with the woman right on top of him. Pulling her wickedly jagged dagger from her boot, Vaedra stabbed it into the man's gut, withdrew, and got behind him holding the point against his throat as he was busy clutching the wound in his abdomen.

"Stop!" She yelled, gripping the man's shirt as he fell to his knees.

Seeing their companion in peril gave the two spellcasters pause, ceasing their chanting and moving closer, the woman eying the bloody tear in the bowman's stomach. The rogue's threats did little to stop the momentum of the warrior, however, as he charged forward, mace raised over his head.

Paying no heed to his wounded party member, the large man swung at the rogue who darted away at the last moment, allowing the spiked mace to connect with the archer's skull, making a sickening crunch. Unable to stop his forward motion, the fighter toppled over the corpse of his friend in a tangled mass of limbs and blood. Vaedra was upon him in an instant, sword and dagger digging into his back, the warrior howling in agony.

"No!" The female caster shrieked, her hands immediately glowing a brilliant white, her attention focused on the large flailing man. Seeing this, the rogue pulled her sword out of the man's back, discarding her dagger momentarily to take the blade up in two hands; she brought it down upon the warrior's neck, effectively dislodging his head from the rest of his body.

The wizard resumed his casting, holding his hands out in front of him, pulses of sparkling arcane energy pouring out to unerringly strike the rogue in the chest. Vaedra was knocked from her feet, the crackling magic stinging and temporarily shocking her nerves.

The large man was thoroughly dead, the deranged cleric was tearing at her hair, clawing her own face, screaming uncontrollably. She pulled a single dagger from the tiny scabbard on her hip, and blindingly charged the dazed rogue who was climbing to her feet.

"Marie, no!" The last remaining man cried out, his fingers glittering in preparation of another spell.

The woman pounced onto Vaedra, dagger poised to strike her in the heart. The rogue casually brought her sword up to parry the strike, the cleric clearly having little to no formal weapon training. Kicking out into the woman's abdomen, she flew back, landing hard on her rear. Picking up her dagger, Vaedra approached the female caster who had risen to her feet and charged back in, her eyes gleaming insanely.

Blocking the dagger with her own, the rogue plunged her sword into the cleric's gut, the red blood trickling out to mingle with the tattered crimson robes. Pulling the blade free and kicking the woman's knife away, Vaedra turned her attention to the wizard, his eyes wide.

Turning, he began to run, his desperation had him kicking up dirt and leaves as he struggled to gain his footing. Reaching for another dagger, the rogue flung the blade outward, striking the man in the back of the knee. Falling face-first into the ground, he peered over his shoulder to the approaching woman, flipping over to clutch at his wounded leg.

"Please, mercy! I yield!" He pleaded desperately, watching the rogue stalk towards him, her face unreadable.

Looking down at the middle-aged wizard, a man who'd probably lived to see every bit of the destruction that Arthas and the Scourge had wrecked across Lordaeron, a man who had lost all hope and more than likely had turned to the Scarlet Crusade seeking vengeance and a sense of purpose, Vaedra searched her heart for a shred of pity.

She found none.

"Sorry, friend. Not this time."

-

Oddly enough, traveling westward into Andorhal granted Vaedra a much-needed respite amongst the undead and away from the fanatical humans of the Scarlet Crusade. She had considered burning their bodies so the plague didn't get to them, but decided against it. What did it really matter?

She couldn't help but wonder though if they had attacked her somehow sensing that she indeed was aiding the Scourge, or was it just the normal blind zealotry that all of their Crusaders seemed to possess... Other than her slightly more haggard appearance she didn't think anything about her countenance had really changed during her service to the Lich King. But what if it was something less tangible? The smell, the essence of undeath seeping into every pore, encompassing her person like a malignant aura... could they see it? And if they could, then who else could as well...

Shaking her head, the rogue hoped it was merely her paranoia getting the best of her. Getting close to Jaina Proudmoore would certainly be much more difficult if her association with the Scourge was that glaringly obvious.

Rising after taking a brief rest, Vaedra began her unmolested walk through Andorhal, her gaze passing over the ruined structures. The once human settlement had been the first town to contract the plague, passing along the tainted grain to other unsuspecting encampments and later to Stratholme. After Arthas' betrayal he had chased Uther here to retrieve the urn with his father's ashes, slaying his once-devoted mentor and making his treachery complete. And now, it was here in this Light-forsaken place that Vaedra sought sanctuary.

Uther's Tomb wasn't far from her position, following the road southeast out of Andorhal and onto Sorrow Hill, the monument was the only real bastion of light in the blighted, dying land.

She strode past the undead unhindered, flickering torches ensconced in stone flanking the path leading up to the tomb itself. The large, circular pillars on either side of the entrance beautifully framed the heroic statue of Uther bent at one knee, hammer brandished above him, the Light pouring down across his serene face. In front of the pedestal, stood the stone tablet, topped with a shiny, mithril plaque.

Approaching the marker, Vaedra delicately ran her fingertips across the inscribed metal, her eyes traveling across the words.

_Here lies Uther the Lightbringer_

_First Paladin – Founder of the Order of the Silver Hand_

_Uther lived and died to defend the kingdom of Lordaeron. Though he was betrayed by his most beloved student, we believe that his spirit lives on. He continues to watch over us, even as the shadows close in around our ruined land. His light is the light of all humanity – and so long as we honor his example, it shall never fade._

_-Anonymous_

Letting her fingers wander to the edge of the tablet, she felt alongside where the metal met stone, gently prying to test the plaque's steadfastness.

"Hello, young one." A musical voice graced the rogue's ears.

Turning she watched an elegantly-adorned elf emerge from behind one of the stone pillars, a torch in hand as he tended to the upkeep of the tomb. His white hair was pulled into long braids, soft blue robes were embroidered intricately with gold thread. He smiled up warmly at Vaedra as he approached, hand extended in greeting.

"Come to pay your respects?" He asked gently, eyes shining brightly.

The rogue faced him completely, allowing him to fully take in her appearance, golden orbs widening in shock as the elf observed her leather armor torn in several places, streaked with dirt and blood.

"Yes and no..." she replied noncommittally. "I had heard that a great priest resided here, seeing to Uther's tomb. I didn't want to pass up the chance of visiting it for myself, but along the way I was attacked and wounded." She held out the arm bearing the black marks from the Lich King's 'healing', the armor surrounding it not yet properly mended. "Might you take a look at it for me?"

He nodded fervently, "Of course, of course. I am High Priest Thel'danis," quickly bowing and stepping forward. "Please, allow me to examine it."

Taking Vaedra's arm, he ran his hand across the hideous scarring, brow furrowing in repulsion.

"By the Light! My dear, what did this to you? The wound looks to be made from pure evil itself, infused with necromancy and undeath, what happened to you, child?" The elf's voice was laced with the disgust he felt towards that type of magic, but his golden eyes were etched with concern.

The rogue pulled her arm away, covering the scars and turning to look up into Uther's statue. Her voice was riddled with shame. "I'm... I'm very sorry. You shouldn't have to look at this. I am very ashamed..." She sighed deeply. "I only wished to look upon the Lightbringer's face, so that I might attain some peace. I dare not hope for forgiveness... Please, would you read the inscription to me? I'm afraid I never learned to read..." She lowered her eyes, moving aside so that he might stand next to her by the tablet.

His brow maintained it's look of anxiety, clearly worried about what kind of trouble the young woman could be in, but he conceded to her request, nodding.

Bending over slightly, "The inscription was written anonymously after Uther's fall, it reads: 'Here lies--"

A firm hand grasped the back of the elf's neck, he didn't have time to even twist his head in shock as he was propelled forward, face-first into the mithril plaque, instantly knocked cold. A single trickle of blood ran down across the etched words of the tablet, diffusing slightly to fill in the letters.

... _betrayed_...

The elf was still alive, she hadn't killed him. She wasn't completely lost, the rogue assured herself. Dragging the unconscious body behind the large pedestal of Uther's statue, she deposited his form and returned to the tablet.

Unsheathing her sword, she slid the blade beneath the metal, attempting to pry off the plaque, but it held fast. Not wanting to damage her weapons, the rogue looked around for something to use as leverage.

Wandering over to the undead-infested graveyard, Vaedra eyed the metal pickets that made up the fence surrounding the graves before she spotted an iron-worked ornament atop one of the tombstones, a flattened T-shaped object. After many minutes of tugging and twisting she wrenched the slat free, irritably moving back over to the tablet.

_Ugh, this is ridiculous, _She grumbled to herself. Were all of these items going to be as inanely absurd to retrieve?

Sliding the ornament beneath the mithril slab, she pressed down with her body weight using the horizontal side as a lever, one of the four bolts holding the plaque in place popped loose. She let out a sigh of relief.

The twinkling light pouring in over the head of Uther's sculpture seemed to brighten momentarily, the torches danced and flickered as the wind grew more violent.

Vaedra wiped the sweat from her hands and prepared to give the slat another push when a deep, disembodied voice began to speak from behind her. She turned, startled, afraid that the elf had awoken prematurely, but there was no one there.

"Why have you come to desecrate my tomb? Did I somehow wrong you in life, young rogue?"

She looked around, searching for the source of the voice. Her eyes widened visibly as a ghostly apparition of an older man gently floated down from the radiant light in front of the large statue. His hair and beard were mostly gray, speckled here and there with the reddish-brown color he no doubt wore in his youth. The lines of his face were heavy and deep, but his eyes bore a gentleness and wisdom to them that even made Vaedra feel small. He wore full plate armor, a long cloak draped across his shoulders... it could be no other than Uther himself.

It took all of Vaedra's courage to turn away from the spirit, ignoring his questions. Pressing down on the lever harshly, another bolt popped loose.

"Rarely do I believe that a violent course is the only solution to a problem, and I do not think that this was an exception, child." He put a slight emphasis on the final word, turning his head to indicate the unconscious elf that lay helplessly against the pedestal.

The rogue ground her teeth together, leaning heavily into the tablet. She didn't have time to waste talking with ghosts, she needed to dislodge the slab and get out of there before someone _real _came along.

The Lightbringer watched the woman labor away for a moment, disturbed, yet also intrigued by the fervor in which she went about her task. "What could be so important? What drives you to this without thought for the consequences which might befall you, without acknowledging my presence? Surely it must be for some great purpose, or you serve a most great master..." The spirit closed his eyes, concentrating deeply on the disinterested rogue.

Vaedra's hands began to shake violently, her makeshift lever clattering to the stone ground uselessly. She cried out, a searing pain erupted in her temples, hands rising to clamp onto her head and falling to her knees before the ghostly figure of Uther.

A feeling of warmth and pure goodness spread throughout the rogue's consciousness, the spirit slipping into her thoughts like the gentle trickle of a stream. In those first moments it was lovely, the soft illumination and delicately probing currents delving for information... but the ever-present coldness that had firmly lodged itself into the woman's psyche quickly retaliated, striking out with the unfeelingly frigid shadow.

The forces of Light and dark struck at one another, making the fragile mortal vessel for their battle curl into a fetal ball and whimper pitifully, the conflicting sides colliding in an explosion of pain.

_She is mine!_

_Let her go you fiend, there is good in this one yet._

_I defeated you once, and seeing what I have become, I'm sure you know I can do it again._

_Do not be so certain, a paladin of the Light does not simply shrivel up and float away, you have no idea what I'm capable of._

_I'll not hesitate to find out._

_Hah, would you now... and risk damaging your precious asset?_

Malicious laughter... _You think that _I _would not risk it? What about _you? _You old fool, just as predictable as ever. Now leave, I know you couldn't bear the thought of something unfortunate happening to this poor, innocent child..._

Vaedra sobbed uncontrollably, her head cradled between her hands. Hearing nothing of the internal conversation going on within her mind, she felt the warm presence retreat, the icy, hollow hand returning ten-fold to renew it's grasp. It was so familiar now she almost lamented the feel of it being gone. Had he fought for her?

Finding that the pain had retreated, the rogue rose to her feet, most unharmed; the ghost was regarding her curiously. Her heart leapt into her throat, what had the old paladin been able to see? Was his presence merely on the surface, like the Lich King, or was he able to look deeper...

The tired eyes appeared thoughtful, they seemed almost to sparkle as he peered into her; spectral arms moved to cross his chest.

"You are playing a most dangerous game, rogue. Arthas is not one to be trifled with..." He admonished gently, though she thought she detected perhaps the slightest hint of respect in his tone. Was he surprised at her ability to have withstood his manipulations for so long?

"You've so far been partially unscathed, but unless you are extremely careful you won't be able to continue like this for much longer. He has worn his darkness on you much more than you might think, and when it comes time to make a choice, it won't be as simple as black and white."

Vaedra returned to the tablet, sliding the lever into the other side and pressing down, freeing it from the third corner. Why did all the ghosts she encountered always have to speak in riddles... She pretended to not feel his eyes upon her.

The apparition of Uther sighed, none too bothered that the rogue refused to respond; he knew she was listening though.

"Perhaps you already have, perhaps you have not... but I can guarantee that before this is all over, you will learn a great deal about yourself, young one, and much of what you learn are likely things that you may wish to have left buried. And for what it's worth to you..." He eyed the woman now tugging on the metal slab that hinged on one last corner. "...I do understand. I understand why you feel you must do these things, and I forgive you. This tomb, that plaque, are just objects. They are merely tributes from those that wish to believe in something greater than themselves, and so I will not lament their destruction, because true faith does not come from statues and symbols. It is something so much more..."

He let the thought hang in the air unfinished, though whether or not he believed the rogue would ponder the meaning of his words later was unclear. The woman pulled at the last bolt fiercely, wanting desperately to be gone from the place, cursing under her breath.

"Before you go, let me give you something. Do not worry, it is just a blessing. Though normally a paladin's blessing focuses on holy illumination, or strength of spirit and sword, I will grant you something a bit more useful to you, my shadowy friend."

The spirit held out his hand towards the rogue, immediately setting her on edge. Her eyes were wide like a frightened rabbit ready to flee, hands gripping the loosened tablet as though her life depended on it. She waited, watching for some indication that he was casting something offensive at her, but it never came. She felt nothing at all.

After a moment he opened his eyes and pulled his hand away. "There, it is done."

With a hard yank, the plaque came free.

"May it serve you well, young rogue. May it shield your thoughts when you need it most, cloud the perception of others who would seek to do you harm. I just hope that it is enough..." The spirit gazed upward into the Light.

"Farewell, Vaedra..." the final words sounded faint as Uther lifted away, fading into nothing, leaving the woman more than a little disconcerted.

Tucking the tablet under her arm, she ran west, eager to be away from the tomb and onto her next task. She didn't have time to dwell on the unusual encounter as she lugged the heavy metal plaque along with her, wondering if the Lich King was laughing at her that very moment, the first item he'd commanded her to retrieve being completely conspicuous. Her next concern, however, was finding a way to quickly travel to Southshore.

Coming over the ridge that led away from Sorrow Hill, the small encampment for the Argent Dawn, Chillwind Camp, came into view. Paladins and clerics busied themselves with various tasks, adventurers preparing themselves to venture into the Scourge-infested lands. Several horses were tied up along a nearby wooden fence, an aged man sat close reading a weathered tome.

Vaedra approached slowly, turning the tablet so that the text was facing inward. Perhaps she'd had enough excitement already for one day...

The old man looked up from his book, eying the woman strangely.

"I'd like to buy this horse." The rogue stated brusquely, indicating a lean, brown steed.

He chuckled, turning back to his reading. "'Fraid he's not for sale, lass."

Reaching into her pack, the woman withdrew a large bag, holding it out to the man. "I don't think you understand me. I'm buying this horse."

His eyes went wide seeing the prospective monetary gain to be had. Taking the bag and peering inside, he grunted, satisfied with the amount.

The rogue reached for the reins, giving the man a hard stare. "For your silence as well."

He waved his hand, distractedly. "Of course, no one will give a second thought to an old man falling asleep in his chair..." as he slipped the coin into his bag.

Vaedra mounted the horse and took off to the south, clutching the tablet against her chest. She had much to think about, and that was the problem.

* * *

_Author's Note: Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, it was great fun to write, and it's my longest one yet ^.^ One brief thing I'd like to mention, though I hate bringing personal crap into my story, I may or may not be able to post for a short time, due to extenuating circumstances. So if you don't see me updating for a few weeks, do not fret, I will still be writing and will post again as soon as I am able. Though it might not happen at all and I will continue to update as normal, I can't be sure yet. Anyway, that's all, drop me a quick review if you are so inclined, I loves them =)_


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The rogue received some odd stares riding into Southshore; the small town was used to it's fair share of adventurers, but the blood-covered, torn armor on the woman toting a large, metal tablet was sure to attract some attention.

She resold the horse for a fraction of the amount she had used to bribe the old stable keep, and secured passage aboard a small fishing vessel to take her and a few other passengers to Menethil Harbor.

The boat was cramped and rusty, crewed by an aged and cynical sailor who seemed more cantankerous than grateful for the extra gold he was earning for a simple voyage. His grumbling and the constant prattle of a plump, middle-aged woman with a ridiculously wide-brimmed hat kept Vaedra's thoughts from wandering back to her unusual encounter with Uther the Lightbringer. Instead she fixed her gaze on the horizon, the bothersome chatter swirling around her head like an annoying insect.

"Bah! Can't find any good help with this damned war going on... the battle has gone to Northrend and still it plagues us here. Now I have to cart you types of people around to make some decent extra coin." The grizzled man spat over the side of the boat.

"Oh! Well, my son Rupert is in Northrend! He gave up a promising career as a paladin to join the 7th Legion and fight the Scourge." The woman fluffed herself up like a hen, brimming with pride.

The old man said nothing and looked away, a pained expression twisting onto his ruddy face.

Ignoring his apparent heartache and disinterest to continue with the topic she continued. "Oh yes, handpicked by High Commander Wyrmbane himself! He said Rupert was a fine young specimen, perfect for helping their efforts and the type of boy they needed to win this war for good." The woman sniffled, eyes sparkling with tears. "But how I miss him."

She dabbed at her face with a handkerchief, recomposing herself. "He told me before he left, 'Mama, you gotta be strong. Of the two of us I know you're the braver one, and even though I'll be fighting against undead, you'll be the one sitting at home and worrying. Your job is much harder, mama, so take care of yourself and don't worry about me.' He said that! My son! I just know that our boys will come through for us, with people like him in their ranks. I just know it..."

Vaedra grimaced, her visage hidden as she watched the gently rolling waves.

_Your son is probably dead... _She thought bitterly.

_I may have even killed him myself._

The conversation thankfully turned to other things, and the rogue all but flew from the boat when it finally docked into Menethil Harbor.

The busy port was a bustle of noise and activity, drunken sailors singing merrily in the inn, colorful tradesmen advertising their wares. The clanging of blacksmiths hammers rang out as the dwarves toiled to craft the finest armor and weapons while fisherman shouted out their deals for the coveted 'catch-of-the-day'.

Wanting to put as much distance as she could between her and the loathsomely optimistic woman, Vaedra hurried to find a ship to take her across the sea to Theramore; it was quickly approaching dusk, and the next trip out wasn't until the following morning.

Having some time, the first thing she wanted to do was purchase a larger backpack so wasn't forced to continue lugging around the blasted plaque... and to make sure a curious passerby didn't look too closely and have to suffer an unfortunate end. The female dwarf that sold her the bag raised a quizzical eyebrow at the metal tablet clutched in the rogue's arms, but she assured her that it was merely an artifact from the nearby excavation site.

Passing by a tailor's shop, Vaedra peered at the racks of clothing, thinking to purchase a new cloak when an idea struck her. Pressing some silver into the shopkeeper's hand she tucked the items under her arm and hurried away to retire for the evening.

-

The rolling waters and choppy waves churned Vaedra's insides, losing her lunch over the side of the ship on more than one occasion. She wasn't sure if trading the incessant banter from her first boat trip for the quieter but more tumultuous journey of the second was really worth it.

Listening to the whispers of some of the other passengers, the rogue overheard that Lady Jaina had recently returned to Theramore. Having spent an extended amount of time in Stormwind to serve as council and provide some stability to King Varian Wyrnn when an outright war with the Horde seemed imminent, no doubt she was eager to return to her own people.

_She's a mage, you bloody idiots, she can come and go whenever she pleases... _Her fickle stomach had put her in a uncharacteristically foul mood.

Leaning against the sturdy railing, she absentmindedly twirled the silver ring the Lich King had given her around the middle finger of her right hand.

Uther's words finally had a moment to creep into her thoughts, though how long she wished to dwell on them she couldn't say. How much of the Lich King's darkness had actually pervaded her soul like the old paladin had said... was she really that much different? Surely she had just done the things he'd asked of her out of desperation and self-preservation, she had never taken a sadistic pleasure in the misery she caused like he did, in fact on occasion she had felt the guilt in her heart from her actions...

But instead of embracing that guilt, holding onto it and trying to maintain a grip on her humanity, instead she had accepted his offers for power, willingly and wholly. More than accepted, welcomed even. And now here she was, jumping to his every beck and call, without so much as questioning his motives, his obedient human pet.

The Lightbringer had said that when it came time to make a choice that it would not be as simple as black and white, but from where she was standing that's exactly what it looked like. Either she could do the honorable thing and let herself perish, freeing herself from his ceaseless torment or readily embrace his wickedness and continue to serve him without guilt or remorse. Yes, two clear choices indeed, though from a cowardly scoundrel's perspective she wasn't sure which of those options was the black, and which was the white...

What if he had been wrong, and the darkness accumulating in her wasn't an effect of the Lich King's will, but rather something innate, a developing evil that was manifesting from a corruption that had been present in her all along? Who was to say that she had changed? Maybe this betrayal against the alliance had been in her from the beginning, she was a rogue after all. There were those with romantic notions like Mathias Shaw, that would believe that being a rogue didn't necessarily make one treacherous, that it was possible to do good and _be _good, just using a more subtle skill set than the norm. For him, she supposed it was possible, but Mathias more than likely resided in that extreme minority; she couldn't fool herself into believing that she might as well any longer.

Perhaps it would be so much easier to just let the Lich King decide her fate for her, to allow him to lead her away from the unending conflict that raged in her thoughts and heart. Humans were such indecisive creatures, she might never come to any sort of resolution on her own, if she could just give in to his seductive promises, then she would be absolved from having to bear the shame of whatever she chose... Surely none could fault her for succumbing after all this time, after all the manipulations, emotional and physical torture...

Vaedra pushed those thoughts away. The time to decide was not yet upon her, though she heavily suspected that it would be very soon, much sooner than she would like.

-

Several days and much uncomfortable sailing later, the ship docked into Theramore Isle. Immaculate white banners with the large blue anchor emblem and the symbol for Lordaeron in the top left corner lined the harbor while guards and militia dutifully patrolled up and down the clean, cobblestone streets. Massive stone walls supporting bright, graceful towers encircled the island's borders, reminiscent of Stormwind's mighty gates.

A young, disheveled mage departed the boat, dark hair hastily pulled away from her face; she was dressed in loose red robes, a thick, billowing cloak draped around her shoulders. Ink stains dotted her fingertips as well as a smudge beneath her right eye as though she had haphazardly meant to brush a loose tendril of hair away from her cheek.

Amber orbs peered out at the passing guards and hard-working citizens as she made her way towards the large mage tower on the hill in the center of the city. Soldiers in plate stood at attention outside the entrance, their white tabards and gleaming swords sparkling in the afternoon sun.

As the spellcaster drew closer to the tower her pace increased and she began to mutter excitedly to herself.

_Light, I hope this works._

Walking hurriedly up the path, the woman climbed the stairs and began to stroll into the tower continuing to make frenzied hand gestures and ignore the guards.

The armored soldiers quickly jumped in front of her, "Hold on a second there, miss! What's your business with Lady Proudmoore?" They inquired suspiciously.

Looking up as though she was seeing them for the first time and not quite understanding why they were in the way, the mage ran her fingers through her tangled locks before placing a hand firmly on the man's shoulder as though to push him aside.

"Pardon me, good _sir, _but I have very important news that you simply could not comprehend." Pressing into the plated armor the woman instead found herself pushing her own body away from the solid wall of muscle and steel.

The guard glared at the offending appendage before turning his stare back to the woman. "Oh, is that so? Well, whatever it is, if you're not able to explain it to a _lowly _peon like myself then surely you're not of sound mind to be speaking with the Lady then, hmm?"

Sighing audibly, the woman furiously began to explain the details of her visit, her tone agitated but enthusiastic.

"All right! I've been working on a study with the Kirin Tor for some time, I'll spare you the intricacies for now but we've finally had a breakthrough with arcane lens technology! You see, once we perfected our formula and found the proper coefficient we discovered that by focusing ley line energy strands into the arcane lens crystals we were able to harness that energy and store it for later use! At first the energy was unstable and we found it difficult to contain for long periods of time but now that we know that our ley line magic was far too pure to be gathered for these purposes. Now here's the really fascinating part, if you've located a ley line nexus where the lesser strands converge, which we did, you'll find that..."

Vaedra tried to appear as animated as she could as she spouted the magical nonsense she knew nothing about, she could only hope that this guard was as equally unlearned in the ways of the arcane and would not see her ruse for what it was.

Throughout her explanation the man wore a dull, blank expression, doing a poor job of trying to look interested.

Cutting her off sharply, "Fine, fine! Why didn't you just say you were here on magical business to begin with?"

Nodding curtly, the woman moved to nudge her way past the guards and continue inside.

"Now wait just a moment there though, missy!" The man stepped between the mage and the entrance once more. "The emissaries from the Kirin Tor usually just teleport straight in... what, is your crystal ball broken?" He snickered to his friend.

Vaedra rolled her eyes and tried to look exasperated, "Do you have any idea how dangerous it would be to teleport in with an arcane lens crystal?! The ley lines that run beneath the surface would not be able to handle the immense strain that the energy would redirect from all sources converging on this very spot thus tearing apart the very fabric of reality! If I even _attempted _such magic the--"

"All right! I get it! Just calm down, and head on up." The guard moved aside, obviously itching to be rid of the eccentric and verbose visitor.

Relieved that she had at least been able to get inside the tower successfully, the rogue entered and began to climb the winding stairwell, continuing her subdued mumbling just long enough till she was out of earshot of the guards.

Keeping to the shadows, she passed by several rooms along the way up: an alchemy lab, a summoning chamber, a library with floor to ceiling shelves lined with fat tomes. She heard voices emanating from within but couldn't be sure if one of them was Lady Jaina or not.

Would she carry her staff with her? Surely not, her day to day activities as the ruler of Theramore Isle likely didn't involve much combat even if the woman thought herself a sorceress first and a figurehead second. Vaedra could only imagine that her personal quarters would lie near the tower's pinnacle where she hopefully had left her weapon; the rogue continued her ascent.

Arriving before a intricately carved wooden door, she could only hope that she had found the correct room; wandering the tower too long would likely result in a chance meeting with one of the inhabitants and it was very unlikely that her magical babbling would stand up to a real caster's scrutiny.

Vaedra quickly went through the motions of securing entrance into an unknown chamber: making a quick perusal to see whether or not there were mechanical traps present, pressing her ear to the door and pulling her set of metal tools from her pouch to swiftly pick the lock. As she slid the thin, steel rod into the keyhole, however, she realized that it wasn't locked at all; turning the knob and pushing the door inside, she let it swing open, observing with a critical eye.

How foolish could Lady Proudmoore be? Was she was so pompous in her arcane superiority, or maybe naive enough to believe that she was completely safe in her little tower to not even lock her door? Why--

But then the realization hit completely. This was a woman who had bled for, fought, and lived through the events of the Third War, she led the alliance across the sea to Kalimdor to help mortal life prevail when the Burning Legion's victory seemed imminent, she was a brilliant mage that studied under the Kirin Tor, whose power over frost magic was said to be unrivaled... a simple thing like an unlocked door wasn't going to threaten her safety. Undoubtedly magical warding had been set in place and instantly alerted Lady Proudmoore the moment her room was breached...

Shit. She probably only had a few seconds.

Peering around the room as she darted inside, Vaedra saw the staff leaning against the far wall next to a large, canopied bed. The shaft was a sturdy cherry wood that formed into a claw-like grasp which held the opalescent, blue gem.

Knowing she probably had little time for subtlety, the rogue pulled her sword free from beneath the voluminous cloak and proceeded to pry the egg-shaped stone from the staff. The wood splintered and small chips fell from the tips of the claws in her haste to retrieve the gem; after a moment it popped loose into her hand. Dropping the staff on the divan as she passed by the center of the room, she started to run. How she was going to get back past the guards at the bottom of the tower she wasn't sure...

Before she made it across the length of the chamber, however, the air turned thick, and swirling, cobalt runes manifested upon the hardwood paneling of the floor. The sheer curtains lining the massive arched windows flapped and twisted, and Vaedra regretted turning around when she felt the tremors of an audible crack. A blinding flash had her shielding her eyes and a turbulent gust of wind knocked her from her feet, still clutching her sword in one hand and the azure gem in the other. She heard the door slam shut behind her, and once her vision had adjusted she moved her arm away from her face and crouched low on her feet.

Standing perfectly still in the middle of the room with her arms at her sides was Lady Jaina in all of her regal beauty. Tall and statuesque she held her form with flawless grace and poise. Golden locks cascaded down onto her shoulders, every strand in it's place despite the agitated wind from a moment before, her skin was the color and consistency of soft cream and she looked down at the disheveled rogue from atop her long, straight nose. The normally serene sea-blue eyes were twisted in confusion at the intrusion and apparent theft, sweeping across the room to rest upon the carelessly discarded staff.

The sorceress waved her hand, and Vaedra could hear the door latch behind her; amber eyes skimmed the room looking for another exit before coming to lock stares with Lady Proudmoore.

"Who are you?" The mage asked bluntly, her tone agitated but commanding. The youthful chimes of her voice revealed to the rogue that she probably wasn't much older than herself.

As the sorceress took purposeful strides over to the remains of her weapon, Vaedra couldn't help but feel like a dirty street urchin in the presence of a queen, not only due to her tousled appearance but because of the composure in which Lady Jaina carried herself, as though she expected a panel of observant spectators to be watching her every move. And perhaps for much of her life there had been...

A surge of the jealousy that had gripped Vaedra before in Icecrown Citadel returned as she watched the elegant woman from the corner of her vision.

_No wonder Arthas had been so taken with her..._

Rising to her feet, the rogue sheathed her weapon and sunk into a deep bow, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "I am a servant," she began cryptically.

She couldn't be sure if the Lich King still held any feelings for this sorceress that had played such an influential role in Arthas' life, but Vaedra was willing to gamble that she still did for him... the Prince of Lordaeron was not a man easily forgotten. And though she had heard the ruler of Theramore was never anything but just and fair and probably in no way deserving of having her emotions dallied with, the rogue could not help herself.

"A servant and more," she continued, intently watching the mage's face.

Turning her gaze away from the unusual dark-haired woman, Jaina ran her hand over the clawed talons gripping nothing at the top of her staff, shifting to look at the large gem held in the rogue's hand.

"A servant of whom?" She asked, brow furrowed.

Ignoring the question, Vaedra followed the sorceress' eyes and held up the stone.

"Was this a gift from Arthas?" She posed, going with a hunch.

Jaina's lips deviated from it's normal line into a curl, "What do you know of it?"

Lady Proudmoore was unsure of what to do with the intruder. The woman had boldly strode into her tower and headed straight for a specific item... there were dozens of more powerful artifacts hidden away in her laboratory but instead she had gone for a simple focusing crystal, an item of little more than sentimental value.

Her own insatiable curiosity got the best of her, and she chose to entertain the thief's questions. The woman with dark hair was regarding her strangely, a knowing look on her face.

"No, it was from another friend, Kael'thas Sunstrider. It was a gift." Jaina swallowed hard at the memory.

The rogue looked confused for a moment before it dawned on her, it made so much more sense.

"Ahh, I see. So I take it your Prince didn't like that very much. Jealous, was he?" She snickered.

The sorceress' blue orbs flared angrily, "That is all in the past. Tell me, who is your master and why have you come to take this from me?"

Vaedra laughed. Light, why did she want this woman to suffer? Was it merely lashing out because of all the pain she had been dealt by _his _hands, or because she envied what they had, and now she desired it for herself? At that moment though, it didn't matter, and for the first time she felt a malicious glee at the anguish she caused, wanted nothing more than this poor woman's heart to bleed.

"He talks about you a great deal you know," the rogue took a few steps to her right, not moving closer but circling around the mage who watched her with an arched, golden brow.

"Your master? Indeed, who is he?" Jaina asked again. Who was this woman? Her words were laced with madness, but much of what she said was eerily familiar...

"Tell me, you live here in Theramore... did you feel the need to distance yourself from him, from the pain you caused him?" In truth Vaedra knew next to nothing about their relationship other than rumor, but she could see that her words were striking a chord.

"Arthas?" The sorceress whispered, mostly to herself. Her ire rising, "You are a Cultist? You serve the Lich King? Arthas was lost to him long ago, the man is gone, they are not one in the same, and you are a fool to serve him."

Vaedra's grin turned smug. "Are you so certain of that? There is much you don't know. Why would he speak of you so often if it weren't for a sense of _fondness _that he must still feel?" She continued to sidestep about the chamber, encircling the mage. "Oh that's right! He does say your name, but it is not with praise or love, instead he tells me about what a whore you were! About how you betrayed him and caused him such anguish..."

Jaina's lower lip quivered, her cheeks reddening. The knuckles on her hand clenching the staff were taut and white.

"You speak lies, Cultist!" She spat out, her fingers tingling with crackling energy. "The Cult of the Damned may do his bidding but he does not speak with them directly, they see him as some sort of god. Filth like you aren't worthy to hear his words, so do not presume to know anything about the man he once was or the life he lived!" Her collected exterior was crumbling, the last few words were forced out shakily, her eyes appearing glassy as withheld tears threatened to spill over.

The rogue smirked, reveling in the woman's discomfort; she took a few steps more. "You misunderstand my Lady... I am no Cultist. I am his servant, yes, but I am also much more." Her smile widened. "Would you like to know how, exactly?"

Heat raged behind Lady Proudmoore's eyes, a vein in her forehead throbbed furiously. She didn't want to believe this woman's words, but she spoke with such conviction, how else could she have known to come for the gem from Kael'thas that had a special place in her heart...

A lump formed in the mage's throat, the memories flooding back to her in full, it had been some time since she'd let herself think about what had transpired between Arthas and herself, and to have it presented before her now so brazenly and cruelly was heartbreaking. And this girl, what was she? His common thief? His mistress? Or maybe his personal companion... the idea that the Lich King had enough feeling left in him to want a woman at his side made Jaina's insides churn and her carefully-guarded emotions shatter.

"Yes, that's right. I have his ear, and everything else as well." Vaedra stepped before one of the large, arched windows, the late afternoon sun poured in casting her long, ominous shadow onto the hardwood floor.

Jaina continued to seethe, breathing heavily, the tips of her fingers beginning to glow a distinct blue...

"He won't admit it himself, but I can tell... he blames you. For driving him to the brink, your own damnable ambition always getting in the way... the man with honorable intentions who just lost his way, you were the bitch that pushed him over that last bit..." The evil words, the lies poured from Vaedra's lips, she couldn't stop seem to stop herself. Her arm throbbed, malice seemed to consume her.

"Sometimes," the dark-haired woman began to push up the sleeve of her robe, "After we're done fucking, I let him hurt me... I let him cut me open and let him burn me with his evil magic..." she lifted her forearm so that Jaina could see the black scarring. "And when he does, he likes to pretend that it's you instead, that you're the one suffering at his hands. 'How does that feel Jaina? I hope it was worth it, whore.'"

The same moment that Vaedra flicked her wrists and the small, pointed daggers went flying outward towards the blond woman, Jaina sneered and yelled out, an icy barrier coming into existence around her, the blades bouncing off harmlessly. The rogue smiled and braced herself... this was probably going to hurt.

If the sorceress' powers were at all diminished by the absence of the gem at the top of her staff, she did not show it. Lifting her arms, a half dozen water elementals manifested around the mage, the air in the room felt like it dropped thirty degrees. Her hands glowed intensely, and with a piercing shriek, Jaina set loose a frigid bolt of frost along with her six elementals simultaneously into the rogue.

Leaning back in preparation and letting herself be carried, the force of the magic sent Vaedra flying backwards and straight out the window from the top of the tower. A gentle shower of glass and residual snowflakes from the frostbolts floated downward as the rogue did her best to curl into a ball and ready herself for the fall. The blow had felt like a thousand fists careening into her gut at once; not only had the wind been knocked clear from her chest, but her lungs felt frozen and unresponsive.

Jaina let out another wail, something half between agony and rage. Hearing their normally composed leader in distress had guards pouring into the tower to come to her aid, thundering up the stairs to her chamber.

Seeing the bright-eyed soldiers ready to defend her, their Lady shook her head angrily and pointed out the window, "No, no! Outside! A woman with dark hair!" She half-sputtered, noticeably restraining herself from using foul language.

Vaedra went soaring over the Theramore wall and into the wilds of Dustwallow Marsh, crashing onto a canopied tree. Her burdensome cloak and robes caught on the twigs and leaves as she tumbled downward, branches scratching at any available skin while she grasped with her one free hand for anything to hold onto. The thin layer of ice in her throat and lungs quickly melted, the rogue taking unproductive, shallow breaths as fingers scrambled against the heavy bark, a fingernail cracking painfully in the process.

Landing hard on a thick branch with her abdomen, pain shooting through her already bruised midsection, Vaedra finally managed to grasp hold of the tree, dangling precariously before swinging herself around to sit securely on the large limb.

Placing the large cobalt stone into a pouch on her belt, the rogue could hear the distant din of shouts and orders emanating from Theramore from across the wall. Double checking that the backpack she'd purchased containing the metal tablet was in tact beneath the overly padded cloak she looked down at the sparkling, silver ring upon her hand.

Panic struck her as she realized she had no idea how to use the item to return to Northrend, her bloodied fingers dancing across the delicate surface in search of explanatory markings or a word of recall. `

She would have cursed herself for not previously asking how to use the ring to return but likely the Lich King would have merely smiled and left her to determine it on her own, as though he enjoyed adding extra obstacles thus making her little adventures all the more entertaining.

Grasping the ring in her palm and squeezing harshly, Vaedra sighed, an image of the snowy regions of Northrend creeping into her thoughts. The place was a desert, barren and white, the brutal winds could tear a man's flesh from his bone, the cold was said to be able to freeze your very soul within your lifeless corpse...

Peeking over the horizon of the somber sight were the heartless black spires of Icecrown Citadel, and before the picture could travel any further, the rogue was enveloped in a thick blanket of shadow, breath forced from her chest as she was swept away, sinking into the depths of Darkness.

* * *

_Author's Note: Booyah, an update! Turns out I can upload from the public library computers so, yay =) Very sorry for the delay, I do not have internetz at the moment but posts should be more frequent now that I know I can use that medium. Another nice, long chapter... hope everyone enjoys._


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Tirion Fordring sat on his bed, metal-clad feet firmly planted on the floor. He stretched the tired sinew in his back and arms as he slowly adorned his brilliant gold armor for the first time since the incident with Arthas' heart in the Cathedral of Darkness.

Though normally not one to be idle, his paladins and the clerics sent to look him over had insisted that he be confined to bed rest for at least a week following the surge of dark energy that had coursed through him as he had attempted to destroy the corrupted organ with a blow from the Ashbringer. He had fought them tooth and nail insisting that he was fine and could easily stand on his own two feet, and only in the end when they had promised to bring him constant reports and keep him fully updated with the going-ons in Icecrown had he conceded.

In truth after he had first returned to Crusader's Pinnacle, a part of him had been relieved for the rest, his old bones seemed to creak with every movement and the brief connection had taken more out of him than he'd ever admit. But his nights soon became plagued with nightmares filled with a spectral, blond-haired boy and snarling abominations, glimpses of a shattered past and a damned future...

He would awaken feeling drained and weary, as though something was sucking the very life out of him through the unconscious world of dreaming, and at the end of the week, he almost lamented that he could not afford more time to recover.

From his window in the tower he could see Icecrown Citadel to the west, the ever-present gloom seemed to thicken with each passing day, and he could not shake the overwhelming feeling of dread that gripped his heart every evening. Hopelessness was not a feeling he knew and it was in his nature to fight until the last breath had left his body, but something intangible permeated his being with thoughts of a bleak and desolate tomorrow that only worsened as time wore on.

A light knock sounded at the already open doorway, rousing him from his reverie, a blue-cloaked figure entering before waiting for a reply.

The paladin nodded to Darion Mograine as he strode in, arms clasped behind his back. Tirion finished fastening his back and breast plate, reaching for the heavy gauntlets.

"How goes your recovery?" The two-toned death knight voice pierced over the loud scraping that came with donning metal armor. The words were callous in themselves, but a slight undertone of concern was apparent enough for the old Highlord to pick up on.

"Well enough," he replied gruffly, slowly rising to his feet and shuffling over to the mirror on his wall. The armor was more cumbersome than he seemed to remember, though he supposed that with his climbing age his muscles would atrophy after a week of disuse faster than they used to.

The face in the looking glass shocked him a bit, appearing more gray and deeply-lined than he expected. One could barely tell the color of his eyes so sunken and fatigued they looked, the skin drooping off his cheeks and jaw, pallid and blotchy. His body felt stretched and thin, physically as he had been lacking in activity but also in another way, as though something had leeched his very essence, his very connection to the Light...

Darion observed the old paladin stoically, blue eyes glittering beneath the dark cowl; if he noticed the weariness or saw deeper into what really ailed Fordring, he did not show it.

Turning from his own reflected visage to peer at his companion, Tirion was struck profoundly by the man's apparent youth. The death knights were immortalized in their current bodies upon the moment of their 'rebirth', and though he knew that Darion had suffered much, his face did not show it.

How different they were, not only in their outlooks and strategies, but where the paladin wore every line and scar proudly, testaments to the hard-fought battle that was his life, the death knight retreated inward, every betrayal and sin marring his unseen soul. The paladin, the man, would slowly wither and die as the other would take every ounce of malice and hate they encountered and let it fester within them, growing and burning until the fateful day when they were cut down, no longer living or un-living... a twisted husk of a creature.

Tirion shuddered inwardly, chilled by the very idea and unsure of why the thought had come to him in the first place. He was content that soon his life would draw to a close to be taken by the Light, no amount of resurrection or magic could bring him back after that point, but it was a fate he accepted and anticipated, he could only hope that he might prevail long enough to see the evil of Northrend vanquished and some semblance of peace restored to the land.

Realizing that he was staring off into nothingness, he turned back to the mirror, speaking more to himself than his visitor.

"I grow tired of this," the words slipping out before the paladin could stop himself.

Darion nodded understandingly, "I too, friend."

He could not halt the questions that erupted from such a simple a word.... _Friend. _Was the Ebon Watcher really his friend? An ally against a common foe certainly, a brother-in-arms, yes... but friend? Yes, Tirion had saved the man from a far worse fate, but now they allied with Crusaders of the Light to bring down the Lich King? It all seemed very convenient, no doubt they would flee at the first sign of defeat or the very moment after victory, never to associate with the likes of paladins again even should the need arise...

Fordring shook the thoughts away... no such hesitations had come to him before, in fact he had been elated when Mograine had aligned himself with the Argent Crusade even if only for a short time, why had his heart become filled with this darkness?

"The blackness thickens," Darion spoke so quietly it was almost a whisper, the paladin looking at the death knight strangely as though he had been listening in to his private monologue.

"I know you have felt it," he continued morosely, moving to gaze out the window at the tumultuous clouds. "The grasp of the Lich King extends far, it can seep into even the most pious and virtuous of us."

Tirion quietly recited the tenets of the Light, confident in his ability to stave off whatever may have gripped him temporarily.

"For once, paladin, let me offer _you _words of reassurance," Mograine peered halfway over his shoulder, only the nose and chin of his profile visible beneath the hooded cloak.

Fordring wanted to scoff. Darion was usually more than happy to relate all of the Argent Crusade's shortcomings, informing him of the multitude of ways they were acting foolishly and would accomplish nothing unless they were to alter their 'honorable' strategy. And though the man always held a somewhat serious expression about him, the death knight's tone was especially grave, making Tirion decide to keep his snide comments to himself. The lack of sleep over the past week seemed to have made him extraordinarily edgy...

"Balance..." Mograine began. "Balance exists as a result of the ever-warring conflict of the Light and Dark, one unable to exist without the other. It is the way of things, and though one side may prove triumphant over the other on occasion, another good or evil will rise up from the ashes to take it's place. Tirion, the Light is failing here. No, don't give me that lecturing look, let me finish. I know you can feel it. You touched the heart of Arthas, an object of such hate and darkness... you did not expect to escape from that unscathed, did you?"

The paladin's eyes were hard, but he said nothing.

Darion sighed deeply. "There are days where my malice and thirst for vengeance threaten to consume me, I can think of little else and though I tell myself that it makes me stronger and more focused, I fear that instead it can greatly cloud my judgment. I hovered on the side of Dark for far too long so that even now that I am free of the Lich King's grasp, still it calls me, never quite able to be completely free. You are wholly in the Light's favor, unswerving in your loyalty. There are times I must admit where I am envious of what you must feel, the pureness, the freedom to proceed how you wish... but the truth of it, we are both servants still, just as Arthas is"

The death knight paused, and Tirion searched within himself for a shred of patience to let the man continue. Reassurance, he had said? It sounded more like blasphemy and inevitable hopelessness, but the old paladin grit his teeth and held his tongue.

"But I am not here to tell you things you already know... it is what lies between Light and Dark that might not always be apparent to one such as yourself. The Light may shine too brightly in your eyes for you to see the shadows and you might not know where to look within the Darkness to find them either. Those shadows, that umbra may yet be our salvation."

This peeked Tirion's interest; he raised a quizzical eyebrow. "What do you know of such things, Darion?"

Mograine smiled grimly. "Very little, I'm afraid. All I'm asking from you is to spare a little faith, my friend. I know that is something you have a great deal of... and where the Light is always your primary concern and guidance, perhaps this time you might save a bit for what may not be perceived in the shadows it casts."

Crossing the room to look the death knight straight on, Fordring put on a rigid face as though he were about to interrogate a disobedient child. "You know something." It wasn't a question.

Darion's eyes flickered.

-

So she had returned to Northrend with the first two objects successfully... though the meeting that transpired between the rogue and the sorceress and the interference of Uther of the Lightbringer had been rather unexpected.

_Jaina..._

He thought back to the encounter and smirked. The rogue had been ruthless, he could feel her jealousy fueling her to say the hurtful things that had brought tears to the mage's eyes, using the pain it elicited to aid in her own escape even. But he couldn't help but wonder... how much of that display had been real? Had the rogue's feelings been entirely genuine, or had she played them up somewhat, perhaps to draw either a favorable or negative response from him...

Did she think that he would be pleased with her actions, or did she wish to anger him? He couldn't be certain, all that was clear was that she had been satisfied with herself and the outcome. It was amusing, some of the things she said, the lies she'd used to upset Lady Proudmoore, were truer than she knew.

She would be returning soon enough with the last of the items, and perhaps in the future the rogue wouldn't be so quick to make assumptions of that nature and be forced to eat her own words...

-

The blackness faded and the swirling white snow that laced the recently-wrought destruction outside of Angrathar the Wrathgate came into existence. Vaedra shivered, the sudden drop in temperature shocking her system, uncertain that it may have also stemmed from the gaping maw and dark spires of the entrance into Icecrown Citadel looming before her.

She tore off the tattered robes and cloak she had been wearing over her armor, ripped from her grasp by the harsh winds, the useless garments fluttering away to the east. Bandaging her bloodied hand and tucking it beneath her arm, the rogue began to tromp through the snow in the direction of Frostmourne Cavern.

It quickly became apparent that the journey would be long indeed, though when a shadow darkened the white beneath her feet and the rogue gazed upward into the scaly underbelly of her onyx mount she wasn't sure if she should be relieved by the Lich King's 'thoughtfulness' or paranoid at the idea that he was always watching.

Or perhaps it was a not-so-subtle hint that she should be returning with all haste... as with all of her longer missions he had not spoken with her since her departure and that always made her a bit nervous. Vaedra would have liked to believe that during those times he was busy seeing to other matters and simply had neither the time nor inclination to check on her progress, but she heavily suspected that was not the case. Maybe she should feel flattered that he placed enough trust in her, or at least in her abilities, to see the jobs done correctly and efficiently; this did little to assuage her apprehension, however.

Arriving at the cave took hardly any time at all with the assistance of her drake, though peering into the ominous entrance and hearing the whispers carried outward from the howling recesses of the cavern made the rogue wonder what had put her in such a hurry to begin with...

Tucked away in the northern region of Dragonblight, the cavern had been the resting place of the runeblade, Frostmourne, seemingly placed there by Ner'zhul, waiting to be found by Prince Arthas.

_...Whoever takes up this blade shall wield power eternal..._

She had heard the whispers before, but that knowledge did little to mollify her trepidation as she stepped into the darkened cavern.

The walls were swept with sparkling saronite, layers upon layers of rock and ice formed the protective shell around the altar upon which Frostmourne had rested. Wind blew unnaturally here, carrying voices and memories and magic... evil magic.

…_the blade is cursed..._

Vaedra wondered how many had dared entered this cave since Arthas and Muradin had ventured within, the young paladin slicing through the Guardian and his revenants with callous disregard for either their existence or their warnings. Surely thieves or dwarven archaeologists had come in search of Arthas' hammer or evidence indicating anything about a Bronzebeard son...

Ah yes, the revenants. Undead creatures immune to the Lich King's call, bound to the rage-filled spirits of the elementals, taking on the properties of whichever element it was they represented and filling out weapons and plate to appear as little more than a disembodied suit of armor. And here in this cave, they were shadow...

A screeching wail sounded in the darkness, echoing and reverberating so that the rogue could not pinpoint it's origin. The noise was tortured and mournful and served to inform her of why it was very likely that the Prince's hammer yet remained in the cursed cave. Terror gripped her heart as the walls and the shadows cast upon them seemed to come alive, her hands tightening harshly around the hilts of her swords.

Though they had no faces, Vaedra was certain that they were looking directly at her, and no amount of stealth or subtlety would be able to hide her presence from the senses of a revenant of shadow. She pulled her blades slowly as they closed in around her, the wind howling all that much louder.

As the first sword came streaking in she parried it swiftly, on her guard, examining and moving backward carefully towards the cave's mouth to keep as many of them in front of her as possible. When her feet crunched onto snow and the sunlight pouring into the cave had increased, she watched the revenants shrink back away from the illuminated entrance, unwilling or unable to continue any farther. Instead they lined up, almost appearing in formation with their shields up from wall to wall, barring further movement.

So, they would not be lured into the harmful rays of the sun, nor deterred from protecting their cave and destroying all who entered. Vaedra had little choice but to press ahead, though the odds of defeating a semi-organized force of elementals who fought merely for the sake of inflicting harm were definitely not in her favor.

Moving forward she held her blades defensively in front of her, parrying and dodging the wickedly black swords that darted in to tear at her flesh, her feet sliding carefully across the icy cave floor to maintain the most advantageous position and prevent them from surrounding her. They pushed her mercilessly, never tiring and leaving few openings. When one did appear, however, the rogue wasn't sure where it would be more detrimental to strike them. Did she aim for the armor itself, or the seemingly empty air that occupied it?

Arcing her blade over her head for a particularly vicious chop to one of the creature's helm, a faint glimmer of sunlight reflected momentarily off the metal edge of her sword, shining off to land on the revenant to her right. The thing trembled and hissed, bringing it's shield around to cover the absent face. It recovered quickly and came at the rogue with a renewed fervor, a terrible shrieking emanating from somewhere within the elemental's essence.

Vaedra lost ground to block the blows of the revenant that had been struck, two more trying to slide around and flank her left side, their dark swords glowing with a strange inky blackness. Backing up closer to the entrance, the rogue twisted her blades in the sun's rays trying to regain the proper angle of light to shine it into the creatures, only succeeding in a minor flicker here and there which seemed to anger them more.

Seeing the woman stepping into the light and trying to bait them forward for more stray reflections, the revenants began to retreat deeper into the shadows. Thinking quickly, wondering if she had her flint and steel to strike a light, Vaedra remembered the focusing crystal she had taken from the top of Jaina Proudmoore's staff.

Not entirely sure how it worked she fished the opalescent blue gem from the pouch on her belt and let the retreating sunlight pour onto the crystal. Moving her hand, trying to find the correct angle, she watched as the stone seemed to _absorb _the beams, swirling and churning within, becoming brighter and brighter as the exposure continued. Holding it far from her body and shielding her eyes with her free forearm, she aimed it towards the withdrawing revenants.

A brilliant flash of focused energy shot outward to the elementals, their armor and weapons crumbling to the ground as dust, agonized wails resounding as they were disintegrated in a beam of pure sunlight. The entire cavern lit up, walls sparkling like celestial bodies in the night sky.

Uncovering her eyes, Vaedra peered into the darkness and the scattered remnants of the shadow revenants, completely obliterated in the burst of magic. She looked to the gem in her hand, pulling it close and daintily tucking it back into her belt pouch. Having no idea what had happened exactly, how she'd done it, or if the cave was inherently magical in some way affecting the crystal in an unforeseen manner, she didn't want to take any unnecessary chances and quickly hid it from the light.

Stepping back towards the altar of Frostmourne, the eerie feelings of despair and mystery returned in full despite the destruction of the cavern's guardians. A faint murmuring of past voices hummed against the ice as though they were trapped inside trying to escape.

…_I would gladly bear any curse, pay any price..._

The pedestal was vacant and littered with hardened icicles, and in the ice next to it lay Arthas' hammer and Muradin Bronzebeard's forgotten weapons, mostly frozen over... untouched since that day.

Having no proper tools, Vaedra began chipping away at the ice with the edge of her swords, a cold gust of air making her shiver. Along the walls she could see the shadows still, shifting and restless... would more revenants manifest from the evil magic of the place, an endless stream of warriors?

The swords were too large to manipulate against the ice effectively, so she pulled her dagger from her boot and continued, glancing around nervously as she worked.

Arthas' hammer was brilliant, etched in gold and silver, magnificently crafted and balanced, the symbol of Lordaeron embedded on the handle. She seemed to remember hearing that the weapon had been a gift from the Prince's father, something to signify his rite of passage into manhood or when he became a paladin, some such nonsense.

_Uther... Jaina... King Terenas..._

Thinking on it, she realized that they were not just influential people in Arthas' life, perhaps he had even seen them as... betrayers? Perhaps in his quickly-darkening mind once Ner'zhul had taken his hold, Arthas' perception of them became warped and twisted, viewing all those that had loved him in a distorted light...

She didn't have much time to dwell on it now, for as she worked she could feel the darkness closing in around her, the shadows dancing along the walls as more revenants sought to break free and repel the intruder. Her dagger blade nicked the fine metal in more than one place in her haste, her fingers nearly freezing from the sheer coldness that met them as she gripped the head of the hammer and tugged to pull it free from the ice.

Incorporeal tendrils reached for the rogue, and she found it more and more difficult to breathe. A revenant hissed as it emerged from it's icy prison and began to float towards her, sword drawn.

With an audible crack the ice split open and the hammer came free, chunks of snow still frozen on in places. Grabbing her own weapons and flinging Arthas' mace over her shoulder, she ran from the cave. Weighted down by the hammer and metal tablet in her backpack she could feel the shadows breathing down her neck, reaching for her arms to drag her back in.

Emerging into the sunlight, breathing heavily, Vaedra whistled for her drake and quickly mounted before she drew the attention of the Scarlet Onslaught camped nearby.

She always hated the journey back to Icecrown Citadel... it appeared that she was returning of her own volition, that if she so chose, she merely need fly away and never come back. But no one knew, none who saw her could have any idea of what horrors she'd seen, how firmly she was embedded in the Lich King's grasp...

Uther's warning returned to her as she drew closer.

_The choice won't be as simple as black and white..._

Had the time come? Would he be waiting for her expectantly, demanding that a choice be made? No, it seemed unlikely. Nothing he did was as simple as that; she only wished that she had a larger hand in the fate that seemed to be spinning around her.

* * *

_Author's Note: So many reviews, I'm astonished! Extremely happy my little story has entertained so many =) The question was posed of how much of this fic remained... yes, sadly it will be drawing to a close very shortly. I'd guesstimate it'll be wrapped up in the next 3-5 chapters, as much as it pains me to do so, I've had so much fun writing it and hearing from readers. But if you've read my profile you know that I very much dislike the idea of stringing a story on and on as opposed to bringing it to a natural and satisfying conclusion. So that is what I will do... but the next few chapters should be very interesting indeed, I promise you that ;)_


	22. Chapter 22

**Warning! This chapter contains graphic sexual content, read at your own risk!**

Chapter 22

Vaedra was tired.

It had been weeks since she'd slept well last... though one could hardly dub the haunted nightmares that seemed to plague her more and more as contented rest, at least it was uninterrupted. The events leading up to the encounter in the Cathedral of Darkness, being captured by Marcus, her subsequent torture for said capture, and being abruptly awoken, healed and sent out on a time-consuming journey to retrieve three items with seemingly no real value but had sparked the Lich King's fancy all had taken their toll on the still mortal rogue.

And so, as she trudged into Icecrown Citadel thinking to drop off her master's required objects quickly, little occupied her thoughts other than the need for rest. She arrived in the cavernous throne room, the icicles lining the arms of his throne sparkling ethereally, to find it surprisingly empty.

The rogue blinked, staring blankly at the vacant chair for many moments as her mind sought to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. He hadn't spoken to her, or told her where he would be, she had just assumed...

Sighing, she thought to call out to him, but decided against it. It would be best to not disturb him if he didn't wish to be found. This is what she justified to herself, but in truth she knew it was fear that stayed her voice... fear at what his response would be? Fear that there would be no response at all?

She had intended on returning to her cell and collapsing onto the meager blankets that served as a bed, caring little that he might later be displeased at the delay, but instead her feet carried her through the halls as her thoughts strayed absentmindedly from one thing to another. There had been previous occasions in which she had inadvertently arrived at places in the Citadel with no recollection of her path taken... but it was slightly different in that those times she had a destination in mind beforehand, and now she found herself before an unfamiliar door.

It was black saronite like most everything else in Icecrown, carved into skulls and mystical runes. What was she doing here again? Perhaps she'd forgotten, the delirium seemed to make her memory fuzzy. It had appeared to be a good idea to come this way, but she wasn't quite sure why...

Pushing the door in, Vaedra peered into the chamber.

It was the most ornate place she had discovered thus far within the barren fortress, and she almost turned around to double check that she was indeed still in the Citadel. It was as though he'd taken the idea of the Cathedral of Darkness and incorporated it into one room: blood red curtains, flickering candelabra, skull-shaped sconces, swooping pillars etched with necromantic carvings... complete with a small dais upon which rested a metal disk supporting Arthas' floating, disembodied heart. It bobbed non-threateningly, the magic seemingly restored to it's levitating state, the crack in the side evident from where it had been struck with the Ashbringer.

Before the platform was the Lich King, knelt in front of the heart, and Vaedra found it odd that he hadn't been the first thing to draw her notice upon entering. His helm lay on it's side next to him on the ground, as though it had been torn from his head and tossed aside in all haste; face was buried in his large, armored hands, and his normally disregarded white hair appeared to shine as silver in the candlelight.

The room was _cold, _colder than it seemed to be outside even. Breath puffed out in white clouds before the rogue as warm breath met frigid air; did the Lich King make such clouds? She supposed not, there was no heat in his lungs for the air to mingle with, and Vaedra wondered why the idea had never occurred to her before.

She watched him, transfixed at the sight. Had his shoulders shaken slightly? Was he weeping? She couldn't be certain. The rogue let the door close behind her, barely making a sound. Slowly she lowered the hammer and her other belongings to the ground, mind screaming at her to turn around and flee, that he wouldn't want to be found like this, his pride wouldn't allow it... but it seemed unimportant in comparison to how all weariness had departed her and she was drawn inexplicably forward.

Maybe he didn't want her compassion, he'd said as much on more than one occasion... he thought her softer emotions weak and pointless, and there were times she had to agree, especially concerning who it was that dominated those feelings. But seeing him there, knelt before the manifestation of his humanity looking desolate indeed, she wanted nothing more than to comfort him, even despite all the terrible things he'd put her through: the torture, the manipulations, evil itself seeping into her soul...

Did she truly have nothing to lose that she would bind herself to this... man? Monster? Was this her last chance? Who was to say that she was even deserving of such a chance, or that he would even care to acknowledge it...

Vaedra placed a tentative hand upon the Lich King's shoulder, not sure what force guided her, but he appeared not to notice. His form was still save for the minor movement of his neck, turning as though he was shaking his head 'no' quietly into his hands.

"I can see now..." he murmured, so softly that the rogue strained to hear. Lifting his head slightly to gaze at the heart he stretched out one arm towards it, fingers curved as though he meant to pluck it from the air.

"I would not think that such a small thing could contain so much. And I almost lost it..." he whispered ruefully. Vaedra could hardly see his face from where she stood, but she imagined she saw wisps of the smoky blue tendrils that were his eyes, coiling upwards, swirling through the air as he peered into the center of the heart. She said nothing, preferring to act as an anchor at his side for whatever turmoil he was going through. Perhaps he did not want it, but he had not yet pushed her away...

His hand dropped away slowly, head drooping to rest against his chest as though he knew he could never quite reach the object from where he was. Her palm rose and fell against his shoulder as the Lich King took a deep, shuddering breath; bringing his own left glove across he pressed it onto the small hand that rested there.

Her stomach twisted pleasantly into knots at the contact, and she immediately felt like a foolish girl vying for a young man's attention and getting all flustered each time he cast a minor look her way. Forcing herself to even her breathing she recited the familiar private mantra for the pointlessness of such feelings.

_You are nothing to him, you are a worm beneath his feet,a tool to be manipulated and cast aside when it is no longer useful, your feelings mean nothing..._

"I know what you've done, rogue." He spoke again suddenly, more loudly than before, and Vaedra's breath hitched. His tone was beginning to shape into that dangerous quality that she knew so well, the urge to flee turning in her gut, mixing with the misguided feelings of longing; she forced her feet to stay in place.

"You 'rescued' my heart in the physical sense, thinking to liberate it in a metaphorical sense as well. You thought that maybe within this twisted object lay remnants of Arthas' humanity that you could find... and use."

She wanted to shake her head and deny it, but there was little that could be done. It would be a half-truth to say that wasn't the case... at the time she'd hardly been thinking, when she had scooped it up from the pedestal and fled, but afterwards considering the implications and wondering if perhaps he'd regretted his hasty decision to destroy it... Yes, she had wanted to see more.

"Oh, you wanted to see of course. The curiosity of a human is to be expected. But _you,_" the word rang out in the chamber sharply. "You wanted more, it wasn't enough that you investigate what mortal emotions might yet still grip me. You had to toy with them... you sought to control me." His large hand which had been resting innocently against her own abruptly seized her wrist. Rising, he turned with his other glove against her throat, and Vaedra found herself letting him push her against the hard, stone pillar, her obstinate nature to struggle abating.

"No one controls me!" He said this emphatically, his face remarkably unlined and emotionless, the fingers squeezing gently against her neck if that was at all possible. She looked at his eyes, flickering and wafting as though they waged their own battle to mirror the fighting that went on within his own mind. What troubled him? What did he think she could do to control him?

She never got a chance to think on it more, because suddenly he was kissing her, the reflexive intake of breath drawing the cold air from his mouth into her lungs. His lips were demanding and hungry, more like he meant to consume her than a passionate embrace. It was very different than the previous time he had touched her, mouth barely moving against her own as he breathed into her, letting her taste the dark energy that flowed through him... now she felt nothing like that, only the cool flesh and hard hands. Her head felt light, her windpipe slightly constricted, the flicking of his tongue sending shivers down her spine.

Why did she let him do this? He was trifling with her emotions more than she could ever hope to do in return, yet... It became difficult to continue thinking, her senses overrun with cold and pain and lust, the fierce panes of his armor pressing into her chest.

As blackness dotted her eyes, he withdrew, releasing his hold and staring at her intently. She gulped for air, looking into his face for any indication that he felt something. The pasty pallor of his skin looked as it always did, lips slightly parted but flat and lifeless unlike the flush that she was sure that hers would possess.

His gaze was so harsh and unyielding that she had the ridiculous notion that she probably looked quite disheveled, dirty and bloody, having little time to tend to herself. Did he care? Likely not... in fact maybe he preferred her this way, as lowly and broken as she could be. Perhaps it was just another way he could reaffirm his superiority... arrogant bastard.

The Lich King looked at the rogue, her eyes half-lidded; she had pressed her back flat against the pillar once he had moved away though he didn't think it was out of a need to put as much distance as she could between them... in fact it almost looked like an invitation. He had considered bringing up her conversation with Jaina, reminding her what it was she had said to incite the sorceress' ire. But that would have defeated the purpose, he didn't need her thinking that this was a punishment. No, on the contrary, the more she wanted it herself, the better. He had felt it, how close she was to submitting, wanting nothing more than for him to take hold and let her will be his so she could finally be free from the ceaseless conflict that raged in her heart. For her to give in to this physical thing, he was certain it would be the catalyst he needed to give her that last shove over the edge.

Mortals and their petulant feelings of closeness after sharing something 'special' together... it sickened him.

But nonetheless, still fixing the woman in his searing gaze, he watched her reaction carefully as he moved to unfasten his gauntlet. Her eyes widened and he saw and felt the multitude of emotions dance across her consciousness: fear, anticipation, desire... Oh she remembered that first time in her cell when he had touched her cruelly, making her enjoy every malicious moment of it and pulling away before her completion... and every time after that when he need only hint at such things, move to loosen the armor on his hand, he had seen her interest as much as she tried to conceal it.

It was painted on her face now, the enlarged pupils, the barely parted lips, the slight redness that was just detectable beneath the layer of grime on her white skin. Slowly and methodically he began to unfasten his armor and with the shortest of nods he bid her do the same.

When his hand came up to remove the metal from his hand, Vaedra's heart skipped a beat as it always did, a learned response from the time in her room after she'd dreamt of Prince Arthas... The gauntlet came off, then the other, and she couldn't tear her eyes away as more and more of him was revealed. She knew she should be running, begging for mercy, _something... _but she couldn't, she was fascinated, terrified, and irreparably curious. Her mouth went dry as he made an almost imperceptible gesture, indicating that she should remove hers as well.

As if on their own accord, her fingers moved to the buckles, strings, fastenings of her own leather armor, deftly pulling and unbuttoning. She imagined that they were his fingers instead, or that he was controlling her somehow into doing it, at least then she might be able to convince herself that she didn't want this. But no, the traitorous digits were her own, testament to her failings and weakness.

They watched one another, faces unreadable. There was no frenzied undressing as two lovers might strain to unclothe the other, no impassioned hands searching for skin in the dark... it was mechanical and even. She heard the clinking of his spiked plates falling to the floor as he casually discarded them, black cloak unfastening from around his shoulders and floating downward like a shroud.

Vaedra tore her amber orbs away as she bent to pull off her boots, fingers trembling as she felt him draw closer and stand over her. She shivered as the leather slipped off her feet, unwilling to raise her eyes and look at him again. Perhaps if she didn't acknowledge his presence she'd wake from this dream, they could just go back to their normal twisted 'relationship'. At least then she might be able to suffer through the blood and death and incessant taunting... that was bearable compared to the fragile strings of her heart and mind being wound too tightly to the point of breaking. Hugging her arms around her exposed form, she cast her gaze to the floor.

_Look at me..._He bade her, coaxing and tempting. He made it sound like a suggestion and a command all at once, seeming an inane idea to not comply.

The rogue stood, letting her eyes roam upward as she did so, feeling her face grow hot. Looking at her one might think she'd never seen a man before, and his cruel smirk only served to further her embarrassment, clearly asking if she liked what she saw.

She couldn't help but stare though, never daring before to let her thoughts wander to what lie beneath his armor. Had merging his consciousness with Ner'zhul and donning the Plate of the Damned left him horribly crippled and scarred? Apparently not, for as she looked at him, it was as though Arthas' body had been immortalized upon the moment of becoming the Lich King, as youthful and strong as it was when he was an aspiring paladin.

True, the flesh was ashen and pale, bloodless almost, the healthy tans and pinks of a normal human long since driven out by the cold... but everything about him looked _powerful. _It was strange, looking at him, she had to remind herself of what he'd said once before...

_This body is mortal, yet immortal. Breathes, but does not breath. Feels... but does not feel..._

Was that really muscle, as she knew it? Was the rise and fall of his chest from a true need for air? Dark energy coursed through him, kept the skin from withering and falling away, preserved the mortal vessel and it's outer shell to be resilient and tough, but never before had it been so apparent than at that moment, so overwhelming. Peering down at her own athletic body, the crude flesh and blood with it's physical weaknesses and shortcomings, it was difficult to not feel utterly weak and small in comparison.

All that was quickly forgotten though as he beckoned her forward. She didn't have time to think about whether she should be self-conscious of her appearance knowing he'd seen her all before, or why he had chosen to indulge himself in a 'degrading' mortal manner... all she could do was feel his icy fingers touching her body, guiding her to the floor on top of him.

"Go ahead," he spoke low and tantalizing, placing her hands upon his torso, wrists held firmly in his grasp. She marveled at the feel of his skin, the pads of her fingertips making tiny movements against his abdomen, half-listening to the words.

"This is what you've dreamt about, isn't it?" He continued, voice liquid and smooth. "Fulfill your fantasy, imagine that I am your Prince, or whatever you wish. Sate yourself..."

It sounded like such a good idea, words echoing in her head as they were spoken, suggesting... persuading...

With a deep sigh, Vaedra slid herself onto him, and the Lich King felt the first pang of victory, as well as something else...

Her eyes were closed, her face held a dreamy expression as she moved over him, hips rocking gently against the cool solidness of his thighs. She was in her cell, no, in Stormwind... no, the woods. Sunlight poured through the scarce openings between the trees, the wind carried the scent of pine and grass. Blond hair, metal armor, warm lips... The eyes opened. _Blue eyes. _That face... that familiar face...

No, this was wrong! The eyes began to smoke, and the pink lips formed into a well-known smirk.

Vaedra gasped, her eyes snapping open. She wasn't in the woods, she was in the black Citadel, a fortress, a tomb. Goosebumps prickled her skin as she felt him watching her. He was propped up on his elbows, a malicious smile tugging at his lips, staring intensely, utterly motionless as she had writhed against him with abandon.

Her breasts rose and fell as she breathed, feeling completely the fool. Did he want her to use him? He hardly seemed a man, he lay there unmoving, her body and movements likely stirring nothing within the bastard whose heart even now floated nearby outside his being. He wanted to use this against her... how had she fallen into his trap so easily?

With a cry, she pushed herself off of him and tried to scramble away, but he was on her in a moment, pressing her into the stone floor, body trapped between two icy, unyielding surfaces.

"Now, now..." he taunted, cool breath washing over her ear, long hair tickling her shoulders and back. "Your half-hearted attempts at escape are laughable. One would think you were merely playing hard to get." A deep chuckle sounded in his chest, and she felt the vibrations coursing through her.

She bit her knuckle as she felt him push into her, trying to prevent herself from calling out, but a sound somewhere between a strangled whine and a groan escaped her lips. His coldness stretched and filled her, and she wondered if their conflicting temperatures would balance into something more tolerable, or if she'd be forced to shiver and feel the contrast between them throughout.

His hand slowly slid up her ribcage, touching the side of her breast and lifting her body to harshly pinch the nipple. "It hasn't been that long has it? A mere week and already you seem to have forgotten that I am with you always, that I can see your thoughts, feel your desires... that I am _inside _you..." he pressed in deeper for emphasis, teeth raking across the sensitive flesh of her neck as he spoke.

Trembling as his heavy limbs pinned her to the floor, Vaedra searched franticly for a course of action. Always they had only hinted of such things, and never had she let herself believe that it would have progressed to anything beyond his humiliations and degradation. But now, her breathing labored, muscles within her belly tingling and tight, the smell and feel of him on top of her, it was a stark reality. Did she try to withdraw into herself and become detached from the situation? Wait for him to tire of her and just let him finish? He probably only did this to punish her, he'd always so emphatically denied any interest in physical pleasure, though he seemed to speak of it rather often for one who was so repulsed...

He withdrew and flipped her over abruptly, forcing her thighs apart and catching her chin in his hand, eyes blazing. Bringing his nose within a hair of hers, he murmured softly, "Silly human, haven't you figured it out by now? I may own you, but the connection we have between us, it binds us closer than any lovers could ever hope to be. Mother and child, the bond between siblings? Nothing compared to what we have. I know your wants, I know when something feels gratifying," he placed himself at her entrance and slid inside as he said this, watching her face, sensing her reaction. "You've sought for companionship? With me, you will never be alone."

Lips crushed hers, and she cried out into his mouth. White fingers dug into the broad shoulders, legs coming up to subconsciously wrap around his hips. His tongue stroked against hers, thrusting in time with his movements, and Vaedra couldn't suppress a moan.

_Oh Light, he's right..._

Her life had been hollow and empty, unfulfilled in everything she did. A rogue's allegiances were short and fleeting things, loyalty a non-existent concept, temporary friendships formed only from one task to the next and usually with only minor gain.

The thief's life was one of loneliness, full of riches and finery, but typically lacking in deeper connections... and it had been Vaedra's greatest and most hidden fear that she would follow that same track, growing in power and splendor with no one to share it with. And now, with a mocking irony that only the chaos of the universe could provide, this cold, unfeeling shell of a man was the one who had filled that desolate void.

The Lich King made a sound deep in his throat as he gripped the woman's neck and assaulted her mouth, Vaedra lifted her hips as he continuously plunged into her, nails leaving crescent-shaped indentations on his arms.

Truly she was lost then, this was her fate, bound to this flawed and evil creature who made her existence have meaning. She let herself go, _feeling _all there was to feel, clinging to him desperately, kissing back with fervor.

She tore her mouth away from his and pressed it to the hollow of his throat, hands roaming across his arms and back. The muscles and skin and hair, it was so human, and feeling his breath coming in heavy pants above her, she could almost believe for a time that he was.

Something was wound too tightly inside of her, the pressure building with each successive touch. It didn't matter that they were on a hard, stone floor, or that in the past he had spoken of sex as a foul, disgusting, _mortal _thing... all that mattered at that moment was that she didn't have to think, all she had to do was let go, and she could be blind to the pain that swam within her.

Looking into her thoughts was more difficult than he imagined it would be. There was nothing coherent there, only emotion, instinct, notions of what felt pleasureable... It was strange, being present in her mind, surrounded by pure feeling and raw need, it was something he hadn't seen in her before. And as he felt her shudder beneath him, hands gripping him tightly, her mouth open crying out her release, he sensed a darkness settle over her mind, becoming cloudy and obscure. Had it really been that easy?

He had little time to dwell on it, however, as he realized his rather precarious position. His body was still breathing quickly and the woman beneath him had closed her eyes and laid her head back against the floor as her heart's fluttering returned to normal. If she truly had submitted as he had hoped, he didn't want to risk alarming her by stopping early and shattering the pitiful human fantasy that she clung to. It was expected of him to continue, or so he told himself.

The Lich King cursed silently at himself, at her, at all the damnable mortals everywhere with their pathetic _needs, _their infuriating _feelings, _maddening desires to express themselves in such a base, perverse manner... That and more he recited to himself as his pelvis rocked into hers, teeth gritted together allowing absolutely no sound to escape as he climaxed, the rogue gazing up at him sleepily.

Taking one deep, ragged breath, he steadied himself, and looked down at Vaedra, searching, listening...

The pain was gone, the conflict had settled. No longer did her thoughts rage as to whether what she was doing was immoral and wrong, outweighing the value of her own life. The constant battle waging in her heart that he may yet have human feelings within him, wondering if he could ever see her as anything more than an asset, had ebbed. A fine mist had spread across her consciousness, a dullness. To give in so completely she had simply just let those thoughts go, let them run off like water...

He smiled down at her, the satisfaction tickling behind his eyes. Her will to fight against his machinations had waned, and now all she wanted was the blissful ignorance of submission.

A small part of him lamented the change, it had been a pleasant distraction, her constant struggle against the manipulations had proven to be an amusing game. But in the end he had always known that it would come to this and inevitably conclude so that he could press forth with his plans, bringing the rogue into play where she was needed most.

Rising to his feet, he peered down at the woman laying naked against the stone, the mask that had been ever-present on her face finally fallen away to reveal the vulnerable core underneath. She'd certainly put up a good fight, but it would be folly to think that anyone could stand up to the Lich King if he had ample time. Her human intuition and ingenuity would still be in tact, but now she was malleable, ripe to be molded and twisted, obedient.

He extended a hand down to the rogue, and Vaedra felt a muddled sense of deja vu. Her mind seemed like a fog, thoughts fuzzy and thick, and she had the vague notion that the hand was reaching... reaching to free her from something.

She looked up at the man with the flickering, blue eyes, cerulean flames on a candlestick, a sly grin on his face, palm extended in an inviting gesture.

_Don't be afraid, let me lead you. _The voice sounded oh so far away, like thunder rumbling from over miles and miles of hillside. But it sounded tempting too, and she could see no reason to not comply.

Fingertips brushed, and Vaedra was hoisted to her feet, her expression complacent as she bowed her head and smiled shyly, murmuring in acknowledgement.

"Master."

She was his.

* * *

_Author's Note: Hehe, a quick update because I couldn't wait to post this chapter. Anyway, there it is, finally I say... let me know what you think. Next one should be up soon!_


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

The Helm of Domination connected the Lich King to thousands upon thousands of undead, able to command them and send instructions... and their collective consciousness, all of them, were blissfully silent compared to the ceaseless musings of a single human. It was only now that Vaedra's thoughts had become quiet that he truly noticed how much she had been present after all the time that had passed.

She was still there, the connection to her mind remained, but she was submissive and pliant. He could peer into the fog and feel her emotions, see the unswerving devotion and willingness to please. She wasn't a mindless undead by any means, her memories, skills and cleverness endured, there was simply more... acquiescence.

Difficulties still existed, however. As a penalty to letting her remain human he knew there would be times where he would need to stroke her delicate mortal ego, the irritating desire for praise from one's Master, her longing to look upon him as a companion as well. Those things and more... and it annoyed him to no end.

But nevertheless, the rogue had retrieved all of the items he had sent her to collect, and he was pleased.

He placed them all before him, handling with great care as though they were ancient artifacts; the part of him that was Arthas knew these items well.

Uther... even in death, after his demise by his student's hand, still he persisted, trying to teach and shine his treacherous Light on any who would listen. Nauseating.

Jaina... she brandished a gift atop her mighty staff from her 'beloved' Kael'thas for all to see; stringing Arthas' heart along only to stab it cruelly with the harsh dagger of betrayal. Whore.

King Terenas... ah, the ever-present yet not present father, too old and blind to pay heed to his only son beyond the accomplishments he toiled and bled to complete only to gain minor notice and a sliver of favor. Weakling.

Hypocrites, liars... betrayers. All of them.

His mentor had always been too careful and guarded, daring not to press too harshly upon the son of a King, the Prince's urge to prove himself always threatening to spill over the gently-laid boundaries. Lady Proudmoore, his lover for a time, had drawn out the heart he was never meant to reveal only to shatter it, the fickleness of love making him cynical and bitter. And his father. The old wretch had made an ostentatious show of presenting the hammer to his son, displaying both as trophies, assets to be utilized and flaunted.

And now he had pieces of all of them: a memory, a token, a gift. But would it be enough?

The Ashbringer was a powerful sword; first in the hands of the elder Mograine, then corrupted in the hands of his son only to be purified once more when taken up by Tirion Fordring. Surely a weapon which felt the emotions and truth in the heart of it's masters so keenly as to reflect them in it's appearance and strengths could be muted by hate itself...

The old paladin was very much in the way of his plans, and the troublesome sword seemed to be the key to all of it. Remove one factor and the other should follow, leaving the way clear for his progression to continue.

The Lich King eyed the bobbing organ encased in black ice behind him, glowing dimly, seemingly innocuous in itself. They had all touched it in some way, claiming pure intentions, but inevitably it had twisted into something ugly. And now he would return the favor. Their 'love' would be turned into a weapon to strike down his enemies, sealed with the hatred that now consumed his heart. A smirk touched his lips; the orchestrated irony of his actions was always a satisfying thing to behold.

Grasping the blue gem firmly in his gloved hand, but not so harsh as to break it, the rogue entered the chamber. Though she made no sound, he had sensed her approach and felt the presence draw nearer.

She knelt before him, respectfully, but after a moment she lifted her head and gazed up at him with bright eyes. The look was not blank or dull, in fact her face seemed to have seized the clarity he had claimed she would gain by submitting. Though he hadn't been quite sure how she would react exactly, he was pleased that she wasn't just a witless zombie who would wait for her pat on the head and detailed instructions before departing.

Her skin had been wiped clean of it's earlier grime and shone with a luminescent whiteness, hair brushed and pulled neatly away from her face. At the slight nod from her Master she rose and came to stand at his side; another of the changes was her desire to always be near him, bothersome yes, but he could tolerate it for a time.

Vaedra stepped close to the table and the Lich King placed a heavy hand on each side of it's edge, keeping her enclosed between it and himself. Tentative fingers reached out to brush the hammer when a warning voice spoke low in her ear. "I would not touch that if I were you."

She looked over her shoulder at the blue eyes burning there, and her breath immediately quickened. "Why is that, Master?"

"Because," he smiled, placing his glove on her pale skin, "they are being readied for construction, and without the proper conduit one might find themselves in a great deal of agony for having handled them unprepared."

Guiding her hand in his own he reached out to the hammer and placed their hold firmly on it's shining, metal head. Vaedra gasped, she could feel the energy passing through her flesh from Master to object, alighting her nerves, hairs on her arm rising, a tingle traveling down her spine. It was thrilling to witness his power and even more exciting to have the chance to feel it again.

After a few moments, he withdrew, the Prince's old weapon humming faintly with newly acquired substance.

"Thank you, Master." She spoke shakily, arm trembling. Feeling his cool breath against her neck, armor pressing into her back, it was difficult to form the questions running through her mind.

"What are they being prepared for, Master?" Her voice sounded strange in her own ears.

"You will find out soon enough," he said firmly. "Do not go far, I will be calling for you soon."

Nodding, she heard the dismissal but was unable to do little more than turn around and face him as he was still standing temptingly close. His eyes swept candidly over her face as if searching for something, though the rogue may have believed the perusal was an appraisal of her features the way her lids lowered shyly.

She was such a different woman. Until now she had fought him every step of the way while maintaining the appearances of being his servant. It was so unusual to see the defiance gone, and some of him missed the struggle, their games of manipulation keeping even a being such as himself alert. And here she was now, looking as though she was hoping to be kissed, hanging on his every word. It had been what he wanted in the beginning, but now...

Without another word, and pulling away while ignoring her want for his touch, he sent the rogue away looking disappointed.

_Perhaps when this was all over..._

-

A sword was forged by the Lich King's finest craftsmen.

Arthas' hammer was melted down to become the edge, the metal plaque from Uther's tomb became the hilt, and Jaina's gem was fitted perfectly between the cross guard.

The blade was finely balanced and slender, one could see the faint outline of violet runes etched in the metal if you looked closely enough. Brilliantly mithril, the hilt curved downward into claw-like talons, seeming to reach for the sword's holder while the grip was wrapped in sturdy black leather and tied with silver wire. Lady Proudmoore's blue crystal lie dormant within the hilt looking like an ordinary stone, but it was not yet complete.

Already it glowed faintly, alive with magical energy, beautiful and deadly. And though the pieces had been touched by the Lich King, imbued with dark energy, they had not yet been sealed together by the pure essence of hatred that swam in Arthas' heart.

When they came together, he stood in the middle, one hand on the blade, the other grasping the icy organ, channeling all that had coalesced within the heart: loathing, betrayal, darkness... and the sword soaked it up. It took a great deal of focus for him to accomplish this, more than he expected, but the result was wondrous.

The blade's edge was encompassed by a smoky black aura, drawing in light to a place where not even shadows would venture; the crystal, inherently neither good nor evil, simply a device to harness whatever energy might be present at the time, focused the new darkness within it into a more concentrated state. A plain cobalt gem before was now a swirling vortex of obscurity, cloudiness marring the center of the stone appearing as a pupil within a surrounding blue iris, thus earning the sword it's name.

The Eye of Darkness... a blade with one purpose alone. And he would see everything.

-

Vaedra had been waiting patiently until her Master had called her again, summoning the rogue to his throne room. She felt more at peace than she had in such a long time, the questions of morality and humanity that had plagued her ever since the Lich King had made his original proposal finally were fleeting things. They seemed superfluous to dwell on now, her objective was clear, her mind focused. How did one find such purpose in the dense fog that had settled over her consciousness? She supposed it was strange but every time an answer seemed forthcoming, it would slip away, out of sight.

She breathed easily as she made the journey to the Lich King's chamber, though she couldn't ignore the accelerated rate of her pulse as she drew nearer, ever curious what he wanted of her and eager to please.

The cavern was always a thing to behold, both separated from the Citadel and it's very heart simultaneously. Vaedra had often wondered if it had been fashioned from the surrounding glacier itself, the icy core that had given Arthas all of his power, the site of his transformation. She had shivered in the past thinking about it, imagining the rush of power and energy he must have felt, her feet brushing so closely to the very spot it had happened. She pondered none of that now though, as she pushed the heavy, black doors open and stepped inside; her gaze was for one being alone.

It always made her happy to see him without his helm on, it was as though he was giving her his undivided attention, that her presence warranted a detachment from the ever-present connection he had with his minions. She moved quickly to kneel before him, palms feeling sweaty despite the frigidity of the air.

He said nothing, so she remained down, holding herself as still as possible. The sound of his footfalls rang out as he slowly encircled her, considering as he stopped before the seat of his throne.

"Rise." He spoke simply, back to the rogue who stood cautiously, eyes fixed on the thick black cloak and the silvery-white hair that draped over it.

Vaedra watched as he lifted something from the chair, and when he turned he was holding a blade sheathed in a ordinary black scabbard between his hands. Pulling the sword free, he presented it to her for examination.

Reaching out deliberately, she was surprised to find that her hand fit snugly around the grip; she felt the superb balance and weighting, the intense potency and strange inky aura of the weapon striking her profoundly. The 'eye' of the sword, the gem, commanded attention, and she found she was quite unable to look away from it's twisting depths, the center a maelstrom of pure darkness.

"It is marvelous, Master." She said honestly, awestruck.

"Indeed," he agreed, seating himself. "But it is the fighter in you that says as much. You marvel at the keen edge and fine workmanship, you do not yet know the secret of this blade. Though it may strike with lethal precision into the flesh of our enemies, that is not it's main function. Once you are aware of it's true power, then you can say with certainty what a magnificent creation it is." He handed her the scabbard which the rogue reluctantly used. Offering the blade back to him, he refused it, indicating her hip.

"It will be yours to use for a time," the Lich King explained, looking at the woman intently. Vaedra's heart pounded, he looked as though he was about to divulge important information, and she felt honored.

"Fordring must be dealt with." A slight sneer formed on his lips as he said this, unable to hide the disdain.

"You would want me to take that responsibility, Master?" The rogue asked, incredulous. "I will do anything you ask of me, and if this pleases you than I cannot refuse. Gladly will I wield this blade and strike him down-"

"No!" He cried out sharply, eyes flickering dangerously, making the woman recoil. "No, you will not harm him. That is not your task."

Vaedra nodded, though clearly not understanding her role.

"You know of the Ashbringer?" He continued once he saw her head tilt. "I have felt it twice now. The paladin who wields it has purified it for his heart is blindingly loyal to the Light, free of corruption and untainted. And so the blade reflects the mentality of it's user and has proven to be a thorn in my side. No, I do not wish the blade for myself," grimacing at the very thought. "Instead I wish to relieve Tirion Fordring of it, render it to merely a piece of steel for a time so that I may be rid of the paladin at last and be able to keep the wretched sword from any others who would come along and claim it for the purposes of 'Good'."

The rogue listened quietly and thoughtfully, her mind already working out the mission so that she might be most useful.

The Lich King went on, smiling grimly, "Fordring has felt the power within Arthas' heart as well, do not think he escaped that noble blow unharmed. But I do not think that even in that old man's wildest dreams would he imagine an attack on the sword. The Ashbringer cannot be allowed to stay on the battlefield for the coming fights ahead, neither in his hands nor someone else's. So when the Eye of Darkness, a sword forged from pure hatred was to strike it," he indicated the blade in Vaedra's hands, "The magic within it will yield temporarily, the blackness of your sword will soak up that light, mute it, stifle it, so that I may come and finish him before the eyes of all his faithful students."

She looked up at him, dozens of questions apparent on her face.

"Tomorrow at dusk you will go to Crusader's Pinnacle." Yes, he surely enjoyed the symbolism. Let the Argent Crusade's doom come when the last of the light faded from the sky. "You will breach their defenses and unleash that blade against the Ashbringer. Once you have done so, I will come. Let them perish on their holy ground, their hard-earned victory over Scourgeholme meaningless when Fordring finds his sword as brittle and unremarkable as wood." He chuckled darkly.

Vaedra smiled in agreement, but worry clouded her features. "How will you know when I have struck though, Master?"

As if in response to her question, the Lich King's eyes flared. "I am always watching."

The rogue looked down at the blade as he said this, the Eye of Darkness seeming to pierce into her. But then she remembered the great Ocular that had resided atop the Shadow Vault before it had been destroyed; it was said that the Lich King had more of them spread out across Icecrown.

"From Scourgeholme?" She dared to ask. "An eye is controlled from there?"

He nodded slightly, a light grin tugging at his lips.

"Master, I..." she began nervously, casting her gaze downward. "I am elated that you have charged me with this important task. And even though I have accomplished a great deal for you I cannot say with certainty that I am skilled enough to carry this out for you effectively." She swallowed hard. "That tower is extremely well guarded and the paladin's command of the Light is great, I fear I would be discovered very quickly."

She was stating what he already knew, but it was unusual to see her admitting her own weakness, genuinely shaken over her inability to do what her Master required of her.

He was already prepared for this, however. "My pet..." he crooned softly, making her look up, eyes glistening faintly. The Lich King produced the violet orb; the rogue's knees weakened and she was immediately terrified, though the terror stemmed more from the belief that she had displeased her Master somehow more than for her own well being.

"Master!" She cried out, throwing herself at his feet. "Please! Tell me what I have done, I have tried so hard to satisfy you. I will do anything you ask! I'll go there tomorrow if you wish it!" She grasped onto his leg as she wailed, and he was instantly disgusted.

"Get up." He growled harshly, making Vaedra scramble to her feet, biting her lip and looking ashamed.

"I'm not going to hurt you, woman," trying to explain calmly, keeping his countenance even. "You have done well and I just want to see you aptly rewarded." The orb twinkled in the faint light.

"We made a deal some time ago, do you remember?"

She nodded, "But Master I do not hold you to that, so much has transpired-"

He held up his free hand, silencing her. "Calm yourself. I would not send you into this unprepared, you're entirely too important to me." Wincing inwardly as he said the words, he saw the stupidly happy grin spread across her face.

"I gave you a promise for power at the expense of you staying of your own volition, and you have fulfilled that bargain. Our connection binds us together and allows me to transfer some of my own power to you. Do you still wish for it?"

At first he had been unsure that this was the wisest course of action. Though his power was vast, it was not limitless, thus granting even a handful to his rogue would weaken him slightly. But she was completely subservient and truly he wasn't sure if this plan would succeed without her enhanced aid in this. After consideration he had decided the investment worthwhile, there would be many battles yet after this one, and she had been decidedly useful so far.

Vaedra trembled as he spoke to her, disbelieving that he found her worthy of such a gift. "Master, I... I don't know what to say. I do not doubt your judgment... if you feel that I am deserving then I cannot refuse such an offer."

He smirked. Of course she couldn't, everything she had wanted was coming true. She believed the Lich King to be a long-term companion providing her with a purpose and support, and now the power she coveted would be hers as well. Beyond that a few choice words and touches would be more than enough to keep her content with her new life.

The rogue tensed in anticipation as she watched him clutch the orb, eyelids closing allowing only a few tendrils of blue mist to escape. She gasped audibly, her nerves coming to life as he passed some of his own energy into the purple sphere, slowly and deliberately as to not harm her fragile mortal body. Once before he had kissed her, allowing her a small taste of the vastness of power that swam within him, and it was but a shadow in comparison to the pleasurable tingles that ran through her now.

She felt more alive, filled with vitality and energy she never thought herself capable of possessing. She was strong for a human, but surely this feeble shell couldn't contain the energy that now coursed through it so readily! It only served to increase the wonderment she felt when she looked upon the Lich King, knowing how much of that energy was contained within Arthas' body.

Vaedra cried out involuntarily, her muscles all clenching and un-clenching pleasantly as the waves of new strength washed over her. Perhaps the energy was dark and tainted, though that notion did little to sway the feelings of elation and ecstasy that blinded her senses.

Was she more than human now? Would the Lich King finally look upon her as something greater?

Finally, as the last ripples faded and her breathing slowed as it returned to normal, they each opened their respective eyes.

Her Master's face looked just a bit more gaunt and ashen than it had before, evidence of the strain he had gone through to bear her such a gift, though the change was only noticeable to someone like herself that gazed upon his face so often and knew his limitations. But she felt incredible! The extent of her new power was staggering at first, reflexes more finely honed than she believed possible, lean muscle capable of bearing more weight than a man twice her size, and there was something else... It was difficult to describe, she didn't feel entirely whole, it was though despite her physical body existing in the reality she knew, it also existed somewhere else as well simultaneously, as if she were not entirely corporeal... Unusual yes, but she looked forward to exploring all the new aspects of her power later.

The Lich King took a deep, shuddering breath. He had acutely felt the power being drawn from him as he pushed it into the orb, but because of the connection he shared with the woman, it was more like the energy had been _transferred _from one vessel to another, as though someone standing in the ocean had merely scooped out a cupful of water. He was still aware of it as well as how it felt within her, but the exertion had still weakened him somewhat. Opening his eyes languidly, he was struck by the orbs that peered back at him.

No longer were Vaedra's eyes the rich amber color, appearing golden or brown depending on the light... instead they were a vivid violet, the same hue as the sphere he now held in his hand. It was an odd color, but he decided it suited her well. Perhaps it was imagined, but she seemed to stand straighter and more confidently, looking at him intensely with lips slightly parted. She was a young woman, beautiful in her youth, but now she looked different, almost ageless. The shadows under her eyes faded, the minor creases that had formed on her face after all the torture and pain he'd caused her had smoothed; long life had been something she had desired...

He reached out to her, both figuratively and physically, searching her mind through the fog to detect her emotions, the awe and desire to thank him. Holding the orb out on his palm, the rogue came forward, lifting her hand to take it. As she drew closer, he pulled further away, curling his fingers around the sphere slowly, her eyes following his hand as he deposited it into a small bag on his belt.

"Not yet, my dear." He murmured, watching her face. "I prefer to keep you close."

Taking his words to be an invitation and already standing directly in front of him, Vaedra climbed into his lap, fingers rising to brush gingerly against the wan skin of his cheeks and jaw.

"Master..." she purred, pressing herself against him, lips following the trail along his face that her fingers had set. "...what can I do to repay your kindness?"

He sighed inwardly but put on a sly smirk and placed a hand on her waist for her benefit. It felt necessary for him to maintain the ruse, pretending to be taken with her and desire her body, he knew appearances were important... then why did it feel like more than ever he had become the prisoner; forced into playing this charade and continuously trying to make his servant happy?

She pushed her chest against his, lifting her head to gaze at him expectantly. Threading fingers through her hair, he roughly pulled her mouth down for an ardent kiss.

-

Darkness had settled across Icecrown, but Vaedra was occupied as she rode her drake towards the Shadow Vault. The hour was late, but after her meeting with the Lich King and discovering all that would transpire the following day, knowing how much could be decided in just a few moments, she knew there was one last loose end to tie up.

She held a letter addressed to Mathias Shaw, her teacher from SI:7. Calren had revealed that the middle-aged rogue was in Northrend, and Vaedra was certain he would see that Mathias got the note.

After she had departed the throne room, she had begun the message, but the Lich King had quickly taken notice.

_Feeling some residual loyalty to your fellow rogues, hmm?_

_No Master, though I do seek to warn them._

_Oh, now why is that?_

_Because Master, I hold power over them. Mathias came here seeking to save me, if I let him know that is no longer a possibility, that there is nothing to save, he will abandon his foolhardy mission here and depart._

_Should we not use this as an opportunity to lure him out?_

_I don't think so, Master. He is crafty, and already made the promise that we would never see one another again. I think him seeing a message by my own hand will be enough to sway his resolve._

_Yes, but why now?_

_They should not be underestimated, Master. Our plan for tomorrow will run significantly more smoothly if we don't have shadows lurking nearby to worry about. Also, they are allied with the Ebon Blade, if I can convince them that the situation here is hopeless that will help us both in the short and long-term. _

He had agreed, and carefully watched as she penned the letter.

_Dear Mathias, _

_The day of man draws to a close as Darkness falls around you, and both you and the Argent Crusade are too blind to see it. There's nothing more for you here, cease your useless attempts to save me for I have found purpose and clarity in what you would call evil. Stay true to your nature, be a rogue, don't stand with the fools at their beacon of Light atop this ravaged land. Turn a blind eye to the thousands of graves beneath your feet for surely only death awaits you. Slink into the shadows as to not seek the warm embrace of your ancestors too soon, for they watch your every move. Farewell my mentor, you were correct when you said we would not be meeting again._

_-Vaedra_

As she flew, she examined her forearm where the Lich King had 'healed' her before her departure to the Eastern Kingdoms. The necromancy had left behind ugly black scars she feared would never fade, but now with her new-found power, the marks had been reduced to pale lines of gray.

The lack of wholeness she had felt earlier had abated somewhat, but she couldn't deny the lightness in her step, her ability to dart between shadows she had experimented with on her walk back to her cell. She knew what sort of power traveled through her now, but it did little to lesser her amazement. He had given her a part of himself, and even knowing that the amount had been but a drop in the bucket, the gesture was quite telling. Finally he must look upon her as more than a slave, someone worthy of his gift, and a small bond of trust had been formed between them. Though he had kept the orb, she told herself that it was simply for it's safe-keeping, he had said she was important after all.

As the darkness of the Vault drew closer, the rogue looked at herself, and watched in amazement as her body seemed to become translucent. She touched her own leg, tucked firmly against her drake, and it felt real and physical, but somehow she made the distinction that she still wasn't quite all _there._

A shiver took her, the realization that the magic was uncanny and unnatural, a manifestation of evil and darkness. Yet she had wanted it, craved it even, and now she would have to learn to live with it, and someday hopefully master it.

Vaedra deposited the letter under a stone atop the Shadow Vault overhang where Calren had told her the Stormwind Assassins would meet. Things would be much more complicated if the message wasn't found by tomorrow, and she didn't want to think about the trouble that would put her in...

-

Calren looked grim as he approached the elder man bearing Vaedra's letter. He had almost missed it, held down by a rock so as not to get blown away by the harsh winds, a flash of white against the gray stone he had noticed as he was about to depart from the overhang.

"Master Shaw," he said quietly, placing a hand on the shoulder of the small man with brown hair and eyes. He held out the note, "Message for you... I'm afraid the news is grave."

Mathias raised an eyebrow at the younger man. "You read it?"

Calren shrugged, not especially apologetic. "Rogue." He offered lamely, gesturing to himself.

Mathias sighed, and pulled the small spectacles he wore out from his pouch, fitting them on the end of his nose as he made his perusal of the letter.

He looked at Calren from over the top of the page when he was done, the young rogue's face etched with worry and resignation. Mathias' lip twitched.

"What would you have us do now, Master Shaw?"

The older man removed his glasses and nodded. "We wait."

* * *

_Author's Note: Teehee, getting close to the end here. Hope this chapter wasn't too dull, had to set up for what's to come in the next couple. Bwa haha, I know stuff you don't know! _


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

The gentle buzz of anticipation thrummed in Vaedra's chest. After dropping off the note to Mathias at the Shadow Vault she had been unable to sleep, nervousness and excitement coiling in her stomach as she tossed and turned. The price of failure was steep, much steeper than she wanted to think about.

Perfection, always perfection.

She slipped into her armor, drawing buckles tight, securing her swords on her hips and the Eye of Darkness on her back, doing her best to keep her breathing even; she still could not settle the twist in her gut.

A shadow filled the doorway of her cell, and when she turned the Lich King stood there watching her, features hidden beneath his helm. Her heart fluttered, not having the faintest idea how he had arrived so silently, but her face lit up at seeing him nonetheless.

Frostmourne rested in it's scabbard at his waist, cape sweeping the floor as he took a step into the room. Vaedra moved to his side almost instantly and with perhaps too much familiarity.

"Master..." she acknowledged with a murmur coming to press the front of her body into his side. One arm snaked around his hips while the other hand rested against his chest as she gazed up at him fawningly. The coolness of the armor didn't bother her, she could almost imagine that it was his own skin instead...

With a grunt he shoved her away, the rogue's fingers brushing against the metal plates of his back and leather of his belt as he did so.

"Enough foolishness." He snapped sharply, and Vaedra was instantly sobered. She nodded, dejected.

He tried to slough off his frustration, he didn't have time to waste 'tending' to his pet. Evening was coming fast and everything was falling into place. Fordring was at Crusader's Pinnacle now, and the subtle stirrings in Scourgeholme would see to it that he stayed there. He eyed the woman in front of him. She had always performed pristinely before, her mind utterly focused on the task at hand, but now he had trouble discerning her exact thoughts through the fog. Would it cloud her judgment?

"I am ready, Master." She assured him, as though she had been reading his mind. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. For so long he had been the one in control... was that just an illusion now? This woman seemed to be able to sense his moods and detect the flickers of emotions behind his carefully laid mask; could she see his apprehension? He was confident yes, as he always was, but a great deal hinged on what transpired at the Pinnacle, it would not do for either of them to make a mistake because of... distractions.

The Lich King glared hard at her, trying to recreate the fear and tension he used to be able to inspire in the rogue so readily. It felt empty and forced though; he closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

"Don't worry, Master. Everything will go smoothly," Vaedra smiled at him sweetly, her violet eyes shimmering faintly.

He wanted to vomit.

Placing a heavy hand on each of her shoulders, the Lich King swallowed the unpleasantness and pasted a smirk on his face. "I know you will perform well."

Vaedra closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side so that she could rub her cheek against his glove like a feline.

No more words were exchanged as they departed. The rogue could sense her Master's agitation, wanting to soothe his troubled thoughts but knowing that only the successful elimination of the Ashbringer and it's wielder would placate him for the time being.

She departed the Citadel, eyes roaming across the black ramparts and the severed sky as she took a deep, trembling breath. Icecrown's gloom seemed perpetual, the sun's rays never quite able to peek through the clouds, back lighting them instead casting a dim gray shadow across the land that only faded further and further into darkness as dusk approached. The entire world was blanketed in a penumbra, perfect for a rogue to come out and play.

-

Brannen had been stationed at Crusader's Pinnacle since it was first established some months before. The battle had been hard-fought but the Argent Crusade had prevailed in the end, earning a victory over the Scourge and firmly planting a foot into the territory of Scourgeholme. The undead attacked frequently: gargoyles patrolled constantly overhead, minor skeletons and arachnids threw themselves blindingly after the paladins, uncaring of their own existence. He supposed it didn't matter, the Lich King seemed to have no shortage of loyal minions, and it kept the Crusaders on their toes.

But this day was different. There was a stirring from within, the temples were aflutter with activity, Cultists scurried about for some unknown purpose. Something wasn't right, he could feel it in his bones. Being a veteran of the Third War and a devout member of the Argent Dawn, he had seen more than his fair share of battles, and that warrior's sixth sense that only came with time and experience was telling him that there was much amiss.

"I don't like it." He muttered under his breath but loudly enough for his dwarven companion to hear.

Morin huffed, his extensive black mustache billowing out with the harsh breath. "Dun ye be bringin' up trouble, the Highlord's got enough on his mind as is."

Brannen frowned, squinting through the wind to gaze down upon the blight-covered land below. "I'm thinking he feels it too."

The dwarf followed the human's eyes and peered down at Scourgeholme and knew there was a truth to Brannen's words. Fordring hadn't been the same since he'd returned from the Cathedral of Darkness, always looking tired and showing his age more keenly than the old paladin could seem to remember.

"Aye, we're all feelin' it." Morin agreed after a moment.

Brannen nodded absentmindedly. His friend seemed to be referring to the big picture, and indeed the darkness settling across the land was undeniable, but the feeling of an immediate threat that appeared to be brewing right under their feet couldn't be shaken.

"Inform the Highlord that we need to secure the perimeter and be prepared for an imminent attack." Brannen firmly decided.

Morin snorted. "Bah! You'd disturb him over a hunch?" But nevertheless the dwarf stomped off to carry out the order, grumbling something about the impulsiveness of humans.

Brannen's hand tightened around the handle of his morning star; whatever the Scourge was planning, they'd be ready.

-

Silver tools were laid out on the table, polished and arranged with meticulous precision. Mathias Shaw carefully rolled up the strip of leather they were secured in and placed the bundle into his bag with a sigh.

Had it really come to this? Hopelessness and fear could drive people to seek out the most precarious of alliances. Surely though there must be something to gain in all of this, some lesson to come away with...

The rogue's practical mind sought for one, for something to grasp on to in hopes of understanding, but he was lost.

With another long sigh, he flung the bag over his shoulder and departed.

-

How had it come to this? Whittling down to one encounter, one brief flash of success needed by his human servant who's hand now gripped the very object of hate he had poured over, after years of festering darkness had been nurtured and grown.

Something within him felt hollow and the Lich King resisted the urge to place a heavy hand over the area where his heart had once occupied.

She had chosen to stay with him... oh of course in the beginning she had no choice, selecting a life of servitude and blood in exchange for the persistence of her mortality, but for a rogue, he supposed any life was better than none at all. But later, he had presented certain 'opportunities' that were available to her, and that prospect of power was more enticing than the disgust she might have felt for staying.

And when had this happened? The choice had never been hers to make. All his carefully orchestrated actions, the subtle manipulations, preying upon her weaker emotions... he was supposed to control everything; when had it become something more, how had the rogue wedged herself in so deeply as to have the freedom to choose?

These were the very distractions that he had mentally warned himself about earlier. If he weren't so full of pride and vanity he might have felt foolish, but as it was, he simply wiped the slate clean and refocused on the current task.

_Something will have to change when this is over and she returns... _And he left it at that.

Peering into the 'eye' before him, he gazed down across Scourgeholme and to Crusader's Pinnacle, paladin's all standing at attention before their black and white banners with the golden sun emblem lining the ramp that led to the tower.

Everything would start to unravel here, everything that Fordring had worked towards would come crashing down, starting with his beloved tower. The tentative alliance between the Argent Crusade and the Knight's of the Ebon Blade would dissolve shortly thereafter, followed by a few choice altercations set to keep the Horde and Alliance at each other's throats; not that that was especially difficult to accomplish.

He reached out to the rogue, she was nearly there, and ready. The conflict that ensued below was mainly a distraction to give her time to get to the old paladin; the attack on the Ashbringer was certainly unconventional and no doubt completely unexpected. With the subtlety and care she had taken before, and now knowing the power that coursed through her veins, failure was nigh impossible.

The Lich King smirked, he could already feel the pieces falling into place, a complete victory was the only one acceptable. Closing his eyes, he sought out his minions using the Helm of Domination.

_Attack... _he commanded them.

-

"How thick-headed can you be, old man? You'd refuse allies in a time like this, huh?"

Tirion scowled deeply, the lines in his face only appearing more expansive as he did so.

Marcus was lounging on a crate next to the tower with one leg up and an arm thrown across his knee while the other hand was busy picking at his teeth. Fordring couldn't stand the man, and only out of a sense of honor and loyalty to a friend, as misguided as it might seem now that he was face to face with the consequences, did he suffer the man's company.

Not quite as zealous as the Scarlet Crusade, the Brotherhood of the Light prided themselves on doing what was necessary to battle the Scourge, but with the rise of the Lich King many had abandoned that course to join with the Argent Crusade and find a more organized and lawful path, the brighter members knowing full well that effective leadership would need to be in place to overcome that threat.

"The Brotherhood of the Light paladins are a dying breed," Tirion said evenly, "And if you're any indication as to the caliber of the majority of their members than I think we may be better off without them."

The proto-drake tethered nearby shifted uncomfortably on it's roost.

Marcus laughed, throwing his head back in an exaggerated manner. "Don't pretend like you're not desperate here. With the 7th Legion all but obliterated one would think you'd be scrambling for anyone old enough to carry a sword, am I right? Don't come begging the Brotherhood for help once you've dug yourself a hole so deep you can't climb back out." He went back to picking at his teeth, examining a piece of whatever it was he managed to dig out.

The elder paladin felt his face grow hot as he clenched his fists at his side. He wasn't quite sure what irritated him more: the man's obnoxious personality or his disgusting mannerisms.

Clenching his jaw harshly, "I think the Ebon Blade might be better suited for your factions particular 'talents'..."

"Aw, don't be that way, Gramps." Marcus grinned stupidly, swarthy skin crinkling around his eyes. "Is that how you talk about your friends? Seeing as how you just said that people of my 'caliber' were better off not taking part in this conflict, I can't imagine why you would slough off that burden onto your fellow allies. How despicable of you!" His grin widened. "Maybe if you let down your guard sometime you'd grace me with the knowledge of how you speak of your enemies."

Before Tirion could respond, his hand coming subconsciously to rest upon the hilt of his sword, Morin came marching up the path, his hammer leaving a trail in the snow behind him; he saluted Fordring swiftly.

"Highlord sir, Brannen was wantin' me to tell ye that he's thinkin' the Scourge be stirrin' in Scourgeholme below. I tell'd him though-"

"An attack?" Tirion interrupted. "I've heard nothing that indicates-"

A gargoyle shrieked from overhead making all three men turn their head's upward and the proto-drake to tug angrily at the chains holding it down, making a half whining, half growling sound deep in it's throat.

The gargoyle loosed a bolt of green energy from it's mouth straight into the dwarf's chest. Morin was thrown back, landing hard on his rear in the snow with his mace and shield falling beside him. With a yell the dwarf grabbed his weapon, stood and pumped his stocky legs furiously as he ran towards the cliff's edge. Loosing the hammer from his hand it went whirling end over end up directly into the offending undead's face.

The creature went plummeting down into the undead city below, the dwarf releasing a gob of spit over the side after it.

"We're under attack!" A shout came from the bottom of the ramp. "Scourge coming in!"

"Line up!" Fordring called, pulling the Ashbringer free from his belt. Morin grabbed a new hammer from a nearby weapon's rack, scooped up his shield and went charging down the ramp with a cry on his lips to join his fellow Crusaders.

Marcus hopped down from his crate with his two-handed sword at the ready, looking around nervously. He took a step back putting Tirion in the front, his stance that of someone ready to flee at the slightest sign of trouble.

"You ready for a real fight, Rose?" the Highlord glared back at the scruffy paladin. Marcus just sneered at him.

Swarms of undead had collected within Scourgeholme, skeletons and ghouls, transformed arachnids from the Forgotten Depths, minions of Anub'Rekhan. The Crusader's of Virtue formed a defensive line at the base of the ramp, paladin's bearing shields and maces in heavy armor in the front with clerics hovering close behind, nearly as heavily armed.

Blasts of holy energy blew the undead apart in droves: exorcisms, pillars of fire materializing miraculously from out of the gray sky, the dirty snow lighting up around the paladin's feet as the ground was consecrated... but the undead horde seemed limitless.

"For the Argent Crusade!" Brannen yelled as he crushed in a skeleton's skull.

-

Vaedra felt weightless. She was perched atop a rock overlooking the ramp leading to Crusader's Pinnacle, just a shadow on the cliff side, a continuation of the stone formation to any curious onlooker. She watched the battle waging below, paladins and undead alike, their motions seemed slow and sluggish to her perceptions, like they fought through water while she moved fluidly and quickly beside them free of any obstacles.

The Crusader's line was ever-so-slowly being pushed back, but their formation was solid, remaining tight as they receded up the ramp, the clerics never allowing any of their Brothers to fall when they sustained a wound.

She could see Fordring barking out orders from the edge of the Pinnacle, and a dark-haired man with a two-handed sword standing warily behind him. The old paladin was distracted, but the time wasn't yet right to strike.

The rogue ran her hand across the blue stone encompassed within the Eye of Darkness, hiding it from view. She had to wait for the opportune moment.

-

Atop the ziggurat on the hill within Scourgeholme was a floating crystal, wisps of necromantic energies floating around it as it hung within the claws of the dark structure. Through the crystal the Lich King gained sight to everything around it, sending instructions to his minions, and able to watch the movements of his enemies as well.

Within the structure four acolytes to the Cult of the Damned knelt in prayer, their efforts aiding the fifth figure, a high priest, standing with his back to the others before a large crystal orb on a pedestal, maintaining the necessary magic for the Lich King's sight from the stone above.

Dusk had fallen, and the shadows within the chamber grew long and gray. Their murmurs could be heard faintly, the din of battle far enough away to not disturb the ritual.

Shadows descended upon the four kneeling acolytes with no sound, and it was only the cessation of their chanting that alerted the high priest that something was amiss. He felt the magic within the orb grow dimmer as the Cultists were no longer focusing their energies upon it. Turning, it took him a moment of squinting through the darkness to notice that his companions were all lying face down in pools of their own blood.

The man gasped, a hand flying to his throat, the other desperately searching through his robes for the small knife he kept.

He never had a chance when the leather glove covered his mouth... or when the dagger entered his kidney.

Easing the waning body to the ground, Mathias watched as Calren and two of his other Assassins materialized from the corners of the chamber and approached the pedestal, silent as death. He placed a hand upon the metal working the crystal rested upon, careful not to touch the 'eye' itself.

Calren wiped his dagger clean, fitting it back onto his hip; he pushed his mask aside as he addressed the elder rogue.

"Master Shaw, how did you know that we needed to come here and do this? That the Scourge would be attacking this very evening?" It was unclear if he was envious of his mentor's knowledge and foresight or disgruntled for being left out of the loop.

Mathias' lips turned upward, and he gave the slightest of shrugs.

"I read the note."

With that, he pushed over the pedestal, the orb crashing into the stone floor and shattering into a thousand pieces.

-

Everything had been going perfectly, the Crusaders tore through the undead underlings with ease, and he had been more than willing to bear the losses, it wasn't as if he had a shortage. And inevitably, the paladins were being pressed back, mere inches at a time, but a retreat all the same.

Vaedra was in position ready to strike, though he had urged her that waiting too long would result in Fordring fleeing on one of the Argent Crusade's proto-drakes at the beseeching of his paladins. But he needn't reassure her, she knew all of this already.

It was then while the Lich King was peering into the Eye pondering those things and preparing to make the final strike, that the orb before him suddenly went dark.

"What?!" He cried, grasping the crystal in both hands and staring into it inanely, as though he could will the scene back into existence.

"No! Too soon!" He yelled, bringing his fist down onto the table the orb rested, sending it rolling away and bouncing to the ground. The useless Cultists had failed him, their fanaticism had blinded him!

Growling in frustration, he pulled Frostmourne free from it's scabbard, trying to steady his thoughts. The setback was minor he knew, the timing would just have to be off slightly, and it would be better for him to appear too early rather than too late and risk losing the old paladin all together.

Reaching out once more to the Scourge, he commanded his next wave of undead to move into position onto the western ridge. Fordring's paladins would be closed in on from both sides and would have the privilege of witnessing their Highlord's fall. He couldn't forget that. The satisfaction would be his.

Agitation abating from the stupidity of the Cultist fools, the Lich King closed his eyes as he was wrapped in a blanket of darkness and faded away.

-

The rogue looked to the north, apprehensive. The Argent Crusade's lines were continuously being pushed back, but the time to act still hadn't presented itself.

When the swirling magic around the large crystal over the ziggurat finally ceased, she breathed a sigh of relief.

He would be here soon, she knew; it was time to move.

Vaedra floated down from the cliff like a wraith, looking to be only partially in existence. She descended directly behind the defending paladin's lines onto the white snow, but it didn't really matter, she was a shadow, a ghost. They'd have to be looking for something that wasn't really there to see her, and even then...

The Eye of Darkness was firm in her grip, and she held it ready as she climbed the ramp towards Fordring.

-

Brannen swung his morning star into the chest of the zombie in front of him, a similar looking mace of holy energy coming down from over his head simultaneously to strike the creature, making it hiss and sputter, drool flying out of it's mouth. Whispering a word of the Light the ghoul was burned horribly, shrieking pitifully as it tumbled over the side.

The paladin let out a yell of triumph, but a moment later another zombie nearly identical to the first moved in to take it's place. The Crusaders were steadily losing ground, that much was evident and regardless of how many Scourge the paladins vanquished there would always be more. Brannen took heart though in the fact that their clerics were doing a fine job of keeping everyone up and alive so that the veteran wouldn't be forced into lopping the heads off of any of his companions. But if this pace continued he wasn't sure how long they could last, the sheer vastness of the Scourge's numbers was staggering.

From behind the lines, Rhydian, mage of the Kirin Tor, was continuously casting spells, hail and sleet poured from the sky in heavy chunks, tearing holes in the flesh of the ghouls and the hides of the undead arachnids, destroying them by the dozen.

Quickly smashing the face in on the next zombie in line, Brannen spared a glance to the western ridge which had so far been clear. But now he could see the droves of Scourge ambling in that direction, as many or more than what they stood against now.

"The western path!" Brannen yelled, trying to be heard over the clamor. "Scourge coming up the west side!"

As fast as the turn of his head was, the seconds it took earned the paladin a nasty swipe across his cheek from the skeleton that had moved up before him. Bashing the thing with his shield and zapping it with another wave of holy energy was enough to dispatch it and send it down to the ground only to be trampled into the snow by the next.

He dared another swift turn of his head to see if his call had been heeded, and that was when he saw... _something, _little more than a blur of gray, a passing drift of swirling snow, a shimmer in the air, and even though he wasn't sure what manner of undead it was exactly, his instincts told him that it was dangerous.

Tirion had just ordered the remaining paladins guarding the tower to the western ridge, marching swiftly despite their hesitation to leave the Highlord unguarded, when the yell erupted from somewhere below.

"Breach! Something got through! Highlord!"

Fordring scanned the eastern path, searching for whatever the paladin had been trying to warn him of.

Seeing nothing but holding the Ashbringer a bit closer, he wondered aloud, "Arthas, what are you doing."

He noticed that Marcus was still lingering behind him, trying to disappear into the crates and barrels that were stacked up against the tower.

"Well? Go on, Rose! Get down there!" Tirion ordered, indicating the newly reinforced western path.

The dark-haired man's face twisted into something like a lopsided grin and scowl, "Eh, well you know, I can't be leaving your Highness completely unguarded, now can I?" He leaned heavily against his sword almost casually, practically daring the elder paladin to say something against it.

Fordring frowned but said nothing, not wanting to waste any more time arguing with the man. Peering down the eastern slope, he squinted at a flicker of movement that didn't quite belong, a patch of snow that was just a bit too dark. Remembering the previous warning, Tirion whispered a few words and lit up the snow beneath his feet with righteous fire, wary of whatever manner of undead that may have infiltrated the Pinnacle.

Vaedra hovered uneasily in the snow, the paladin seemed to be on to her but wasn't sure of the exact location. She glanced warily behind her to the ziggurat, checking again to ensure that the 'eye' was no longer functional as she had intended.

In a cloud of darkness and a deafening rush of air, the Lich King was suddenly there on the ridge not but fifty feet from the Highlord.

"Arthas!" Fordring yelled, the Ashbringer in his grasp. The Crusaders of Virtue tried to spare glances over their shoulders, itching to turn and run to the old paladin's aid, but were too enmeshed in their current battle, hard-pressed by the never-dwindling undead numbers.

The Lich King responded merely with a laugh, a rumbling howl that shrouded the cacophony of sounds from the fighting below all across the mountainside. Lifting his sword arm, he pointed Frostmourne squarely at Fordring.

Despite the bitter cold, Tirion felt a trickle of sweat slide from his brow.

Vaedra took the cue and began to move. Her feet barely seemed to touch the ground, everything around her was dull and awkward compared to her sleek and graceful movements. Fordring's gaze was fixed on the Lich King, the ground beneath his feet still alight with holy energies.

She willed herself to become something more, a being of pure shadow, allowing no light or magic substance to touch her giving her the few seconds she needed to pass through the consecration without notice. The essence of anti-magic quickly faded however and the rogue found herself nearly in front of the paladin.

And then, without thought or reason, she was suddenly behind him, passing through empty space as seamlessly as a fish swam through water, close enough to Fordring that she could have reached out and tickled his neck. She was a shadow, a gale of wind, her presence unknown as she loomed just out of sight.

The Eye of Darkness was poised overhead, the black glow surrounding the blade appearing perfect in her hand, the purple runes glowing brilliantly if one could look closely enough through the gloom. All she needed to do was strike the Ashbringer to render it useless and weak, allowing the Lich King the time he needed to finally be rid of the paladin and sword.

Lifting the blade, Vaedra glanced to Tirion's right at the man standing there; Marcus' mouth was twisted in that same fearful scowl he had worn in the Cathedral of Darkness when he had looked upon the Lich King for the first time.

The rogue closed her eyes and brought the sword downward... and into Marcus' back.

His mouth went wide, working open and closed as though he meant to scream, but no sound was emitted. Appearing in the front of his armor and tunic the tip of the sword poked through, waves of billowing black smoke pouring down his torso atop the stream of blood.

Vaedra let the sword go as Marcus fell to his knees into the snow, disappearing from view just as Fordring turned with the Ashbringer raised, brandished overhead.

The Lich King's eyes flared as he watched the scene unfold directly before him, an inferno of hate.

"What treachery is this?!" He seethed, hand fumbling for the small leather bag on his belt. Reaching inside he grabbed for the violet orb, fingers curling around the sphere, pure malice filling every inch of his being, fully prepared to unleash it all into the rogue. What had she done?! Why now?!

With a snarl he clenched the orb harshly; he felt it shatter in his hand, small fragments of violet-stained glass coming to pieces in his inhumanly strong grip.

"No..." he whispered, agape, looking down into the palm of his glove at the tiny shards that remained, the wind gusting to carry pieces of them away. It was the useless, fake orb he had given her some time ago to placate her decision for staying, but when had she switched them?

He thought back to earlier in the day, the woman curling up against him...

_...the rogue's fingers brushing against the metal plates of his back and leather of his belt..._

He felt eyes watching him, her eyes, and turned away from his enemy to look up at the rogue perched gracefully on the cliff above. He could see her eyes so clearly, despite the distance, brilliantly and vividly purple, the color he had given her, the piece of himself he had given her. Her face was unreadable, a cool mask as it had been that very first day he had dragged her before his throne.

Vaedra's hand slipped into the pouch on her own belt to grasp at the orb she had stolen... and one last word resonated in her thoughts, imprinted in the Lich King's memory for all eternity...

_Mine..._

She winked out of sight, and with her own hand firmly holding her own soul once more, their connection winked out as well. Severed.

Tirion knelt next to Marcus, desperately invoking his healing magic to try and save the man, but to no avail. Marcus panted and sputtered, the evil of the sword taking hold of his life force and draining it all away. The man looked pale, veins protruding from his skin, and when he opened his mouth one last time to try to speak, all that came out was a line of blood and a stream of vile black ichor. The old paladin had despised him beyond a doubt, but still he made the attempt to fill him with holy power and rescue whatever might be left.

Fordring lifted his head as the Lich King let out a bellowing roar, a sound of pure anguish and hatred, the likes of which only a broken man could make, and it made him tremble.

The fighting below stopped.

The yell echoed and reverberated for many moments.

Tirion turned back to Marcus, eased him to the ground and lifted the Ashbringer up from the snow, prepared to face Arthas.

But he was already gone.

* * *

_Author's Note: Planning on an epilogue to wrap things up, I had wanted to post it simultaneously with this one but ah well, didn't work out. Pretty exciting though, hmm? ;)_


	25. Epilogue

Epilogue

"_It's not enough to just live, not anymore. I underwent the training so that I could be strong where I had once been weak, to fill that void that existed in my heart, to find something that could elicit feeling... but I failed. I am just as empty as I once was."_

"_You have devoted yourself entirely to your craft, there is little room left for improvement. Could you not have anything you wished? You harbor no sense of loyalty to your faction, why not take your fill of riches and go somewhere secluded to live out your life how you choose?"_

"_No, I can't... I do these things, risk my life, face the perils, fight the battles in hopes of finding something worthy of my skills, a challenge that could give me purpose and fill this hollowness..."_

"_I understand this emptiness you feel-"_

"_Do you? Do you really? At least you have your vengeance. Albeit a destructive emotion, a powerful one nonetheless. Perhaps when you have fulfilled that revenge, perhaps then you will know what I feel for surely the completion of revenge is never as satisfying as one would hope... But as it is, I can't imagine anyone can empathize with this overwhelming vacancy, nor would I ever wish it upon them. The only remedy I have been able to discern would be to find something... impossible, some task that would be otherwise unattainable. Find something that had eluded people for centuries, go somewhere that is said not to exist, steal something that cannot be stolen... Perhaps then I will feel the tingle down my spine, or my heart will bleed." _

"_I had thought that self-preservation was the driving force behind every good rogue's actions. To do the impossible you would be defying that; you would gamble your own life for the sake of a thrill?"_

"_Once I would have agreed with you. Living to fight another day trumps everything else, any loyalties, friendships, alliances, everything. But when you do that, it takes something from you, a sacrifice that only those that have made it themselves can understand. Those looking in from the outside only see the cowardliness of the rogue, their desire to only serve themselves... little do they know how much we suffer because of it."_

"_Perhaps you have taken that code too far, no reasonable person would ever except even the greatest of assassins to bear that weight with them always. My companions and I have experienced tragedy and betrayal, but we suffer together. I cannot imagine trying to face that alone."_

"_Maybe you are right. But it is so ingrained within me that I fear it can never be shaken loose. As I said, it's not enough to just live anymore... which is why I seek the challenge..."_

"_If your mind is made up then... there are many challenges to be found in Northrend."_

Inadvertently, by seeking out the most precarious of missions, facing the nearly unbeatable foes, vanquishing the Scourge's lieutenants, desperately seeking to fill the emptiness that filled her heart, did Vaedra attract the attention of the Lich King.

She couldn't have known that the impossible would find her instead.

_-_

Mathias thoughtfully stroked his thin mustache as he rolled up the parchment into a cylinder and slipped it back into his pocket. He had read and reread the message at least a dozen times, searching intently to discern any other possible hidden meanings within Vaedra's letter.

It still wasn't completely understood what had transpired at Crusader's Pinnacle. Blinding the Lich King's sight in Scourgeholme from the battle above seemed an obvious move, one Mathias had comprehended in the message and carried out with ease, but when the Lich King had suddenly appeared seemingly with Fordring in his sights, something had happened.

There had only been one fatality during the encounter. Marcus, left to die with the wickedly black sword embedded through his torso, had suffered an excruciatingly painful death, lingering on for many minutes after the fight had ended. He had become drawn and gaunt, face turning ashy and gray, the skin surrounding the wound quickly festering and spreading. He had opened his mouth to scream numerous times but he was unable to emit any sound, but the pain was there in his nearly-black eyes, pupils but pinpricks on a splotch of the darkest brown, a foul bile staining his teeth and dripping from his lips to melt into the snow.

Tirion had been inexplicably afraid of the weapon, refusing to touch it and not allowing any of the other paladins to extricate it, only permitting his Crusaders to use their holy magic in an attempt to save the man. He had felt that same twisted magic before, he had revealed later, and knew it's evil, but he would say little more on the subject. Though he refused to voice it at the risk of sounding like a paranoid old fool, Mathias could see that the paladin clearly thought that the blade had been intended for him.

And Mathias had to agree. Marcus Rose had been no one, a paladin of little station and of no great importance, someone not worthy of the Lich King's attention. So what had happened? No one could recall actually seeing who had struck the man, and the Lich King had been some fifty feet away at the time, which led the rogue to firmly believe that it had been Vaedra.

But the sword had been left behind as well, deposited through Marcus' back, almost like the delivery of a gift. Did she not keep the blade for she knew it's true evil? Did she wish the Lich King to witness her treachery in full? Was the sword supposed to be a warning? He didn't know.

By the paladin's accounts, the Lich King had gazed upward into the cliff side for many moments following the strike of the blade and had loosed the most bloodcurdling of howls shortly thereafter, leaving Mathias with little but speculation as to what had transpired between the two of them.

_...I have found purpose and clarity in what you would call evil..._

That line of the letter especially had been troubling to the older rogue, leaving him bewildered as to whether or not there was more being left unsaid. The language was so plain that he had initially decided that it was simply a necessary part of the ruse, to convince the Lich King perhaps of her loyalty, but now he was not so certain.

When she had first come to Stormwind to face him those many weeks ago, Mathias had gotten the distinct impression that Vaedra had no choice in the matter, that someone was pulling the strings and keeping her in their control. Had she selected the darker path after all, embracing all that he had to offer but inevitably betraying him? Or perhaps the betrayal itself was the more evil of the choices, one she felt she had to do out of obligation or a need for vengeance... It was impossible for him to say, and probably a question that would plague him for the rest of his days.

_Farewell my mentor, you were correct when you said we would not be meeting again..._

He had said that, hadn't he. In SI:7, before he had urged Vaedra to flee in hopes of freeing the rogue from whatever force seemed to have it's hold on her. Though at the time he wasn't sure if he had really meant it, more so it was for the benefit of the other assassins that had been hidden in the shadows observing the encounter.

But why did she mention it now? Was it again just another part of the ruse to persuade the Lich King that she wished no further contact from Mathias or was it a veiled message? Perhaps it was her way of saying that she needed to move on, signaling the end of a chapter of her life even. Who could say.

Certainly not him. Mathias Shaw felt guilty that he hadn't been there more for her, that somehow he had failed Vaedra in her training. Reaching out only seemed to push her further away; didn't she know that even the best of rogues shouldn't have to suffer through that kind of unbearable loneliness?

Whatever the secret connotations of the letter might have been... in any case he was filled with sorrow.

-

_Even as I write this now, I am fairly certain that upon it's completion I will promptly destroy it. But with no one to speak to other than myself, I feel that I am unable to contain the demons welling within me any longer._

_I am whole once again, and yet why do I not feel like it? I do not know how I survived those months for I had very little to cling to, a shred even. No, the only thought that had kept me driven initially was the opportunity. Yes, opportunity... damn it. My life hung by a thread, held in the possession of a man-monster that wished me to be his servant and see to his every whim. _

_How could I say no?_

_It was the very opportunity I had been searching for. He took something from me, something intangible, something one would think would be un-stealable. But he did! The very thing I had set out to do. And I took it back, along with something of his. And of course, I did not attain the thrill that I had hoped. No, if anything, I am even more empty now that he is gone._

_Oh, but it had been impossible, what I did. He was there with me, inside my head, distorting my dreams, reading the thoughts that dwelt on the surface... but I eluded him._

_How? I only partially know. The mind is an interesting place, layers upon layers of activity, conscious and subconscious... but my thoughts have always been carefully guarded and locked away, my feelings masked and sequestered. In the beginning when he would brazenly gaze into my mind, seek out my hidden secrets, I tried to garble my thoughts with meaningless facts. Consciously I would think of anything: numbers, sequences of any kind, any jumble of information that might cloud his vision._

_But soon I realized how transparent that was, and I discovered that it was quite easy to hide behind a facade of truths instead._

_I do attribute a large part of my success to Mathias, I believe it was his teachings that saved me early on. For I speak the language of rogues as fluently as a scholar might know that of the elves. When I pen a letter, I need not even think of the translation for the words come to me so readily, easily disguised in their truthfulness. Word play has always intrigued me, and even when I did not perform well enough and the Lich King saw through it, I could maintain my honesty at his brusque perusal. But the words were real, and answering his questions with a shadowed openness played a large part in the development of our 'trust'..._

_But I am human, and he knew this. He knows much. He knows what mortals desire, what they long to hear, and inevitably, I felt myself succumbing. I had been so confident at first of my own ingenuity, how foolish I was to think that I could outlast him while he held every advantage. _

_Ironically enough, it was his own actions that set me free. Sending me to collect those items for his sword led me to Uther's Tomb. The ghost of that paladin saw something in me, and I'm afraid to imagine what. But he perceived it, and granted me a blessing that's purpose was even unbeknownst to me at the time. It was only when I had returned to Northrend, back into the clutches of the Lich King and I felt myself slipping, those tantalizing promises seeming all too real and close, that a shroud covered my thoughts, obscuring them from his view. The Light had protected me, and I, who firmly and unequivocally believed I was the last person at all deserving of such a blessing, cannot for the life of me fathom why. _

_It was so hard then though, wanting so much to give in completely, but having the opportunity not to and allow my original intention to come to fruition. I cannot deny it any longer, however. Yes, the feelings were real. I cannot disguise emotions with other emotions like I can with words, the heart doesn't allow us to work that way. Indeed when he spoke to me, whether the words were truthful or not, but when he spoke of our connection, of how our thoughts were entwined, that he could feel what I felt, that I would never be alone... my heart soared. Never would I have imagined that the emptiness could have been filled by one such as him. _

_But was I something to him? I doubt I will ever know. And does it even matter if I was? Perhaps. Perhaps it does not matter what he was or how much of him is still human. All that mattered was that he was there, and I didn't feel quite so hollow when I was with him, despite his darkness and brutality._

_And now I know with certainty that there truly is much wrong with me, whether it be inherent or otherwise. For not only did his evil presence bring me comfort, which is a twisted thing in of itself, but also... that I turned away from it still. The very thing that caused the emptiness within me in the beginning, my damnable nature that refuses to pass up an opportunity no matter the cost, saw to it that I betrayed him in order to fulfill my task._

_But the success has brought me no joy as I stated before. I regained my soul from his capable hands and even took a piece of him with me, a piece of him that he gave willingly. Of course it had been under the pretense that I was completely subservient to him, but that is the nature of the rogue, yes? _

_In a strange way, I think we deserved each other. He sought to use me just as I sought to use him... and from that unexpected relationship something grew. I'm not sure I could put a name to it though. I scoff at the idea that it was love, for surely our 'connection' would be the poorest and most unusual example of love that ever existed. _

_But still, I have been continuing with the assumption that the feelings were anything but one-sided. Perhaps I was just a failed experiment to him for surely I am no closer now to knowing how much of Arthas still resides in that shell. He can certainly act as well as I, I have seen it. However, I have an inkling that I shall always like to pretend that there was something more there, that he had felt something too, that maybe I had brought an iota of warmth into his frozen being. _

_Sadly though, thinking that even if it were true, that line of thought would only lead to the betrayal he suffered at my own hand, and wondering what will become of it..._

_I suppose I will have much time to consider it; now that I have this power, how long am I to live? Is it my curse to covet the unattainable and once I receive it to suffer all eternity in loneliness? It certainly wouldn't surprise me for irony has a habit of following me very closely._

_My situation differs little from what it once was: I seek purpose. Now I simply have the means in which to act on said purpose. Must I choose a side once again? Adopt the ideals of some faction or another that mean nothing to me? Shall I stay in Northrend and use the Lich King's own power against him?_

_I don't think I can yet answer those questions. There is much still to think on. Perhaps I won't yet destroy this writing for there is much wisdom to be had in learning from the past, or so I'm told. _

_I cannot conclude this, however, until I've posed this final question to myself... why not just end it all, suffer this loneliness no longer? Because I'm a coward? Because I'm a rogue and my first objective should always be self-preservation? Both are true enough, but I think there is more to it now. _

_Uther blessed me, the Light granted me it's aid. I shall never give religion much merit, but those events have given me a flicker of hope. Ordinarily hope is not a concrete concept and therefore has no place in my world, but it is there nonetheless. Perhaps I am intended to use this dark power I now possess for good. Perhaps I need no alliances or factions to guide my blades for them so I need not think about the actions I take. Again, I do not know. _

_I look to no higher power to answer these questions for me, I can only look inward as I have always done. I know what I've done, and I know what I am. Now I just need to decide what I have become and what I'm going to do with it..._

_-_

The Lich King sat upon his icy throne, Frostmourne clutched in his grasp across his lap, fingers clenching and squeezing around the grip of the blade. He stared at nothing in particular, but his eyes flickered with an intensity and life all of their own. The set of his jaw was harsh and tense, the very air around his person crackled and hummed with an unseen energy.

She was gone.

Completely gone, no trace of their connection remained. All but a few objects were left in the cell where she had resided for the time Icecrown Citadel had been her 'home', but they were just that: objects, garbage, nothing.

The quiet was deafening. Inadvertently he had reached out more than once, seeking her thoughts only to meet the zone of silence that her mind had once occupied. It was infuriating.

How had she done it? How?! How could she have shielded herself from him? He had asked himself over and over, the answer never becoming clearer, the obscurity only growing greater as his anger did as well.

As he seethed, other questions lay unasked: How had the Lich King been bested by a mere sleight of hand maneuver, how could he have been so blind, was his ire only due to the fact that she had escaped or was it something more... His pride wouldn't allow it. There was no place in him to dwell on any shortcomings he might possess, preferring instead to redirect his focus into fueling the anger that coursed through him.

Of course the failing couldn't be his, he would never allow himself to become distracted by the inevitable mortal emotions he knew she would develop. It was inconceivable.

No, it was _her. _He had selected her, yes, but perhaps he had chosen _too _well. She was the one defying human capabilities, slicing through his undead and dispatching his captains without a second thought; he had picked her for her superior fighting prowess and neutrality knowing she would rather be forced to live a life of evil and servitude than sacrifice herself for the greater 'good'. He had known those things, but he couldn't have known how far she would go, how obstinate a mortal she really was.

But he realized, clarity dawning on him, she was just like the rest of them. A hypocrite, a betrayer... It made perfect sense. They all just wanted his power, they all did. Uther, Jaina, his father, his idiotic minions, all groveling and smiles when it suited them, vying for his attention and power, leeching whatever they could from him before tossing him aside like a used whore, all eager to wield the knife that would stab him in the back the quickest.

The rogue was just like the rest of them, it was obvious now.

She had weakened him, that much he could admit to himself. Giving her some of his power had very minutely weakened his physical form, that bit of essence something he could never regain. She had _stolen _it, and recovered her soul, something he had rightfully taken.

He couldn't let that go unpunished. She would pay. They would all pay.

With a growl of frustration, the Lich King embedded the tip of Frostmourne into the cold ground in hopes of diffusing some of the rage. It didn't help.

But there was something that could.

He rose with a smirk, fitting his helm into place, the gentle murmur of his undead soothing as it filled his thoughts.

He would rid himself of Arthas' troublesome heart once and for all; it had caused enough turmoil already. It wasn't because it was the last remnant of humanity that still remained, or because emotions had clouded his judgment, no, simply because the heart had been the origin of the whole damnable plan in the first place.

Or so he told himself.

The End

* * *

_Author's Final Notes:_

_Thank you for reading my first fanfic! I hope everyone enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing it, at least to my own critical eye the quality was rather abysmal when I began but I'd like to think that there was significant improvement as the story progressed. If you care to read on I just wanted to share a few thoughts about where I went with this fic and Warcraft stuff in general, so if my ranting interests you then please continue =)_

_Firstly, the ending. Yes, a great place to start, heh. There were only a few ways that I saw I could really go once I began this rather ill-conceived story that just struck me one evening before I decided to start jotting it down. Some of these were definitely more viable endings than others:_

_-Vaedra finds a way through some means of her own or combined efforts with the Argent Crusade to destroy the Lich King..... hahahahaha. Yeah, no._

_-Vaedra escapes the Lich King's grasp through death, in some fantastically dramatic way, (something I strongly considered)._

_-She finds some other means of escape (pretty much what I went with, though hopefully through unexpected means)_

_-She stays with the Lich King and together they wreck destruction all across Northrend... heh. Pretty anti-climactic IMO, seeing as how the entire fic appeared to be leading up to that anyway. zomgplottwist!_

_So yes, seeing the other choices mentioned above I hope my ending doesn't seem ridiculous. I didn't really want to kill off Vaedra (yes I know she's my character and everyone loves their own characters blah blah blah), because she became exactly what I wanted to capture when I had begun. As much as Uther or Tirion Fordring are seen as being the embodiment of all that is paladin, I wanted Vaedra to be the embodiment of rogue. So from various inspirations I put her together with what I believe to be a multitude of strengths and flaws that capture the essence of a rogue-like character in its entirety. From the very beginning when she was given the choice of helping the Lich King by doing horribly evil things that allowed her to keep living, or sacrificing herself for the greater good/alliance, I wanted the neutrality and self-preservation and opportunity-seeking nature of the rogue to shine through._

_Granted I know it may be a little far-fetched to believe that the inner-workings of Vaedra's subconscious had been cranking along the entire time, impervious to the LK's domineering will etc. so that's not really what I what I aimed for. More that, through subtleties of words, a pocket of sanity that she never let him see or touch and using "Thieves Cant" to hide her thoughts and intentions, she was able to remain free-willed and partially untouched. Though no person no matter how spectacular could likely stand up to someone like LK, some of what she had planned and how she was able to pull the wool over his eyes juuust a little bit made her a slightly more 'special' human (someone that would catch the Lich King's eye, perhaps!) She still discovered a great deal about herself in the process, maybe finding things that she would rather not have known, seeing how far she would really go for personal gain... but the things he put her through to get there... _

_When I began writing I had to make the choice of how much of the WoW in-game powers I was actually going to include. Personally, I can't stand fics where the fight scenes read like a combat log, "So and so casts hammer of justice, so and so casts holy shock!" So I used a bit of creativity and instead tried to use the spells from the game as a baseline and describe them from there. But trouble also came in deciding what "level" I would make most of the characters. I did want Vaedra to be slightly "higher level" than some of the other NPC's, but things could get messy really fast if I included all of the level 80 spells. Soooo, basically, everyone kind of got nerfed in my story into being pretty average, and by the end Vaedra had developed the powers of a high level rogue (Cloak of Shadows, Shadowstep, etc.) I just hope I was able to find the right balance =)_

_And as for the Lich King, well, I did the best I could. He is an extremely complicated and interesting character, I had no inspiration for him other than my own twisted imagination and what Blizz has portrayed of him and Arthas so far. Yes this is a fanfic and yes I certainly took some liberties, I know it won't be perfect. And where it might be difficult to imagine his character becoming so intimately involved with a single human after his rise to LK-greatness, I felt it was a good way to portray all those unanswered questions about how much of Arthas still exists, or does Ner'zhul just absorb his memories and thoughts and use them as his own etc. Showing his, erm, 'relationship', with another person brings __up a lot of those questions that I'm sure a lot of Warcraft fans are interested to know more about, though I don't feel that they are best answered by me. Hopefully I wasn't too vague at times, but I like a little mystery, it breeds questions, and thus, discussion ;)_

_One other random thing about LK before I draw my ranting to a close, was how very difficult he was to write at times -.-; When I started I would sit there and try to imagine him saying what I wrote in his new WoTLK doomy-filled voice, but I often found it extremely ridiculous... don't get me wrong, I love the voice in the game, it's just not very.... conversational. So it would have severely limited my dialogue if every time I went to write something for him it sounded like he should be bellowing it from the pinnacle of Icecrown Citadel, cursing all that dare oppose him, "show you the true meaning of fear", etc. etc. So yeah, I ended up just sort of imagining Arthas' voice from WC:III once he was a death knight with a bit more darkness to it I guess. Not sure why I wanted to share that, but ummmm, yeah. _

_Anyway, thank you infinitely to those that read, reviewed, commented, you guys make me believe in me! *__sniffle * But seriously, seeing this story so well received has made me very pleased and eager to keep writing, so a /nerd high five to all of you. Oh yes, and the obligatory wifely duty of thanking my husband... heh. I actually didn't tell him that I was writing this until I was more than halfway through, but I'm happy I did. He might not be as dark and evil as me (what, I totally am) but he is certainly just as nerdy and is a endless fountain of creativity, so thanks 3 If you'd like to talk more about Warcraft or writing or some combination thereof send me an e-mail or PM, I'd be happy to discuss, debate, theorize, muse, whatever! _

_Oh, one last thing then I swear I'll stop. I had intended for this story to stand alone but because it seemed that many people had enjoyed it I was considering that I could easily write a prequel or sequel. A prequel would unfortunately not be able to involve the Lich King, (boo hiss I know) and a sequel would inevitably have to be AU. If either of those options appeals to anyone let me know and I will consider them before I decide to move on to something entirely different. Thanks!_


End file.
